Spring Tide
by saltycrow
Summary: All she knew was that there was a life growing inside of her. In that moment, in chains in the middle of an ocean, on the way to her execution, all she could hear was her own voice that kept echoing inside her head. I am carrying Charles Vane's child.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Hi everyone! This is my second Black Sails fic, and this is basically based on a dream I had before season three started and I didn't exactly plan on writing this, but it just didn't leave me alone. I'm not sure how long this fic will be, and I most likely will not update even nearly as fast as I did with Seas and Sands, but I'll do my best to keep updates regular. So, here's the first chapter, I hope you'll like this.**

It was somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean when she realized it. She had not been paying any mind to such things since all the Abigail Ashe related occurrences had taken place. She had been so preoccupied with her plans, her betrayal, his betrayal... So much had happened between them. So much rage she had harbored inside her since the moment she walked into the fortress to find what he had left her to be found. Now that rage had been wiped away for the first time in weeks. It had been replaced with an emotional range so much more vast. Truth be told she could not even pinpoint what those feelings raging inside of her were. All she knew was that there was a life growing inside of her. In that moment, in chains in the middle of an ocean, on the way to her execution, all she could hear was her own voice that kept echoing inside her head. _I am carrying Charles Vane's child._

A few more weeks passed and Eleanor touched English soil for the first time in her life. It was a brief encounter as she was rushed right out of the ship to her cell, all ready and waiting for her. What she had seen of England did not impress her. I'd rather not die in this dreadful place, she thought as she felt the dampness seep through her skin all the way to her bones. That dampness was the worst thing she had ever experienced and she had been kidnapped and shipped to another continent to be hanged. That was saying something. Those thought vanished quickly, however. Nothing so trivial could truly occupy her mind when she remembered the living thing inside of her. Eleanor had never thought she would ponder motherhood, but in that dark cell, that seemed to be all she was thinking of.

Eleanor Guthrie had declared from a very young age that she would never be a wife and a mother. Everyone had laughed at her then, pinching her cheek and telling her she would soon think different and start picking out suitors and the names for her children. When twenty year had passed from those early childhood moments, no one questioned her life as an unmarried woman. No one dared. Or perhaps no one cared. No one in Nassau cared what she did, as long as she sold their goods and they got their money. Eleanor had hardly even thought of children. Especially during the time Max was her lover, the though had not even crossed her mind. And it had not crossed her mind when she bedded Charles. Well, she had gone through the usual methods of preventing a child, but she had not really thought of the matter. Clearly something had slipped their minds. On the night she had had to look him in the eye as she turned the key in that lock.

That night haunted her all the way from Nassau to England and it did not leave her even when she was cast alone into the cell festered with rats and other vermin. The whole night kept repeating in her head, over and over again. It was after all the night of the conception, the night when that small living being inside of her had started its life. She had known what she was doing about Abigail, about her betrayal long before she stepped into that fort. Of course she had, she was Eleanor Guthrie and she always had a plan, there was no doubt about that. The betrayal had weighed heavily on her mind, it truly had. She was not the heartless monster the men and women of Nassau liked to make her into. She did have feelings, she just didn't show them. And _him_... He was where all her feelings seemed to reside. Even so, she would never put those feelings before her ambitions, never. But that did not mean she did not feel the weight of those ambitions heavy on her shoulders when she walked to him, up the hill, up the stairs, to his room, to his bed. Still that night sent shivers all over her body. It had been her goodbye. As he kissed her lips and stroke her core, that's what kept repeating in her head, _goodbye._ A small apology also crossed her mind when he was sound asleep next to her, after. She didn't dare to stroke his face in fear of him waking up and being discovered. But she had wanted to, oh how she had wanted to stroke those long strands of brown hair away from his face, like she always did. Like she had been doing since she was sixteen years old. She refrained from touching him, just whispered a silent goodbye to the only man she had ever loved and disappeared to the dungeons. At that point it had been her betrayal, only hers. She had done anything but pushed the literal dagger to his back. Those feelings vanished as soon as she found her father, dead by his hand. Oh how she hated him.

She hated him with such passion that was only reserved for him. He was truly the only one who had ever evoked such feelings from her. When she had loved him, it burned like the sun, so brilliant and shining, and when she hated him... everything around her was on fire, burning her alive. For such a long time she had tried to deny the effect he had always had on her. But those feelings she had for him were like the ocean, vast, deep and able to drown her any moment it wished. The hate, it burned her, and she could think of nothing else. Oh the fantasies, of him with a noose around his neck and swinging from the gallows. Her beating the life out of him. Keeping his head under water until his lungs filled with it and the life disappeared from his eyes. Any and every violent scenario that entered her head played out in her dreams. Charles Vane suffering, as she had suffered when he took her father away from her. The only man whose approval she had ever longed for had been taken away from her, just as she had gotten a little taste of what it felt when her only parent was proud of her. But in the middle of the Atlantic, those thoughts had been pushed aside. The life inside of her... it changed something.

Eleanor had never in her life wanted to be a mother that was for sure. She had no wish for a child to hinder her ambitions, to subject herself to childbirth, to the role of a mother. She really did not have the slightest clue what being a parent was all about. She hadn't had the best role models while growing up. But while she had been sleeping on the damned hammock in the ship on her way to her death, she had felt a slight flutter in her abdomen. By then she had realized that it was not sea sickness that made her heave during the mornings. It had been quite the revelation, truly, as she had realized that on top of the sickness, she had not had her monthly visitor in at least in the last three months. Her heart had dropped to her stomach. She had been in a shock for a day or few. As the thought settled in her head she was again able to sleep. And in that hammock, near the coast of England, she had felt that small flutter. The mark of life. Before that she had been able to regard it as nothing more than a parasite living in her womb, something she did not want and something that she'd gladly be rid of. But that flutter, it changed everything. Absolutely everything.

And now that she was in her cell, waiting for her sentence, she felt the flutter again and for the first time in years, she cried. It was the ugliest of cries, the years of holding everything in now finally coming out in ugly sobs and frantic breaths that made it feel like she wasn't breathing at all. She cried dearly, for the life that was living inside her had suddenly gained such meaning to her, that she dared not even think of the future that had been dictated for her. All the early thoughts of ridding herself of the child had disappeared long ago, but only in that moment did she truly feel the weight of what it meant to have this child growing inside her. She was hit with such a fierce need to keep it safe that she forgot all about the rats nibbling her dinner and the fleas biting her flesh.

That was when she thought of her father. The man whose approval she had been seeking all her life, at times pretending not to care what he thought of her, but always still caring, caring too much. After all, he had been her father, her only living parent and she had wanted nothing as much as he had wanted his love. Now she had been cast into this role, to his role and she couldn't help but to despise him. She put her hand on her stomach, only feeling a slight bump, still not noticeable to anyone who did not know the natural state of her body. There, inside her, in her womb, her child was growing. And already she loved it so fiercely that she could do nothing else but to hate her father. She had never even set eyes on her child, it was still so small that it surely would not have even looked like a child, and yet she loved it more that she loved herself. The mere thought of doing to it what her father had done to her angered her beyond measure. In that moment she vowed to her unborn child, that she would never make it feel less than, that she would never not love it based on its biology, never not cast it aside for her selfish reasons. She vowed to always love it. That love for her unborn child seemed to emerge out of nowhere. It surprised Eleanor. She was not motherly, anyone could see that. She did not love freely. And when she did love, she never put them ahead of her own ambitions. But now with this child inside of her, something shifted. Suddenly the image of her dead father did not enrage her, it did not make her feel much of anything. She was not yet a parent, but thinking of her father now only made her think _how could you, how could you abandon your own child, how would you not love her?_ The rage was gone, truly. Charles' betrayal did not burn her anymore.

 _Charles..._ his face suddenly flooded her mind. She had barely cast a thought toward him since her realization, and before it she had been prepared to never see him again. Now... something would bind them together, forever. Life had taken such a sudden turn away from everything she had always wanted. And for the first time, she was willing to see this turn through. She had to get back to Nassau. Now there were two lives on the line, and her child could not live without her. _I have to get back._ That was the last thought in her mind as she succumbed to a fitful sleep in her cell, and it would be the first one she would have when she woke up. And when Eleanor Guthrie got something in her head, she would stop at nothing to see it through.

 **Please review and let me know what you thought :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Hi everyone!** **So it would seem that just like with Seas and Sands, the chapters will be relatively short, but it just seems to work for me, so that's how it's gonna be. Also just a note, my first fic Seas and Sands will be considered canon in this fic. It will not be necessary for you to read it, but when I reference their youth, I am referring to moments I wrote about in S &S. But yes anyways, hope you'll like this! ****Also, comments would be so much appreciated :)**

The next day when a fine looking aristocratic man stepped into her cell, Eleanor was already on her feet, waiting, her hand on her belly as if to draw courage from it, but it was also for show. She was still wearing the clothes she had been wearing the day she had been taken. Now they had turned into nothing more than rags, and Eleanor felt a hint of anger. She was standing there in her rags, an unmarried pregnant woman who was waiting for her sentence, facing a man who was dressed in the finest clothes his money could buy, here to deliver her sentence. And she would have to plead her case. It disgusted her. But the feel of that tiny bump on her belly kept that anger grounded.

"Miss Guthrie, my name is Captain Woodes Rogers and I am here about your sentence," the man started, trying to hide his reaction to the smell that clearly was coming from her, she had not had a bath in weeks. This was her change, here and now. They could not execute her.

"Captain Rogers, you cannot execute me, I am with child," she said with that unwavering tone of voice she had used countless times in her dealings with the pirates. It was regal and somehow always made it seem like she was looking down her nose on the person she was dealing with, despite the fact that they usually were significantly taller than she was. The look on Captain Rogers' face changed only slightly. He did not seem upset or angry that he would not get to execute her. And they really could not, they had to wait until the child was born, but that was a concern for another day, Eleanor decided. Now she just needed to get this hanging postponed until she could think of something.

"Are you really? And who is the lucky father?" he asked with a hint of curiosity in his voice. She had thought of what to answer to this question when she would be inevitably asked it.

"Yes, I am. And I simply cannot be sure who the father is, but you cannot execute me." Rogers' eyes dipped to her stomach, just for a second, but it did not escape Eleanor's attention. It was a blatant lie, not knowing who the father was. But she felt it would be better she'd be thought as a harlot than to let them know the real father of her child. There was of course no doubt who the father was to Eleanor as no other man had been close enough to her in such a long time. Not since... well it didn't matter. What mattered was that this person would not think she was closely tied to one of the most notorious pirates in the world.

"You are quite right, we cannot execute you, Miss Guthrie. And I must say, this is quite convenient timing on your part," he said, but with a hint of a smile on his lips. Eleanor did not let her expression change. "Let me explain," he continued and went on to discuss his plan of taking Nassau back for the English, and to her utter shock, taking her with him.

"So you see, Miss Guthrie, now there will be even less opposition to my plans to postpone your execution, as we simply cannot do so, if my estimation is correct in at least five to six months," he finished, with that hint of smile still on his lips. Eleanor breathed deeply, realizing that she would be spared, and better yet taken out of this rotting cell. She would get to go home.

"I need someone who understands Nassau, and who better, than the Queen of Thieves. Of course, I will need your full co-operation." Eleanor stared at the man, who knew she would do anything to get out of that cell. She would promise anything. Before she would have made that promise in the hopes of facing Charles one more time, cutting his throat for taking her father from her, but now it was done so she could get her child a life. And that life needed to begin where her home was, not in this godforsaken English soil. She would grab any chance that would take her away from this place and allow her to set foot on Nassau once more. She had vowed to protect that child, and to do so she needed to get home. She needed... so many things passed through her mind then, Charles, her betrayal, his betrayal, everything that had unfolded between them. What she would do about all that was still unclear to her, but she knew she needed to get back to Nassau, at any cost. So when Rogers asked for names, she gave them. For the first time not doing this for herself, but for someone else. For her child. For their child.

"Good, it is settled then. We leave in two days' time. Someone will be sent to tend to you." And with that the man was out the door, and it was locked once more. The tears she had cried seemed a distant memory. She would not die, and her child would not be born in a cell. They both would get to go home. She could almost taste it.

A woman was sent to scrub her clean. She couldn't remember anything feeling as could as that warm water felt against her skin as all the dirt got washed away. The smell of clean hair seemed like a luxury now, and the fabric of the dress she was clad in felt like silk against her body. The dress was more elegant than what she has ever owned and its green color looked foreign on her. It was not a dress for practical commerce, it was a dress of a highborn lady. It felt like a disguise on her, a mask that made her unrecognizable in the looking glass. She would wear it, and she would hate every second of it, but she was willing to put on any kind of mask to get out of this place, play the noble lady set to bring the rule of law back to Nassau. Once she would have wanted that, she and Flint had dreamed of it. That seemed all lost now. Now she would do anything to keep her child safe, and she frankly did not care what would become of Nassau. Her ever gaining the same position she had formerly held was impossible now, and as she had looked at Woodes Rogers, the man who would surely rule the place, did not look to her as an equal. No man ever did. Except for one.

This time her entry to the ship was considerably more agreeable. She was not in shackles, she was clean and well dressed and she was going home instead of sailing to her own death. On the deck she saw Woodes Rogers talking to his men, looking at documents and paying no mind to her. The men around he were soldiers, dressed in uniform. It was so different to what she was used to. They were soldiers yes, but were they warriors? The men she knew did not have to wear a uniform, they did not speak courteously and yet she was filling to bet money that these men on the deck would sooner run to save their lives than fight for what they believed in.

As days passed, the courteous demeanor of the soldiers around her dropped. They had known who she was from the beginning, but now somehow word of her condition had gotten out. She suspected the maid that had been set to tend to her needs, and it was becoming increasingly clear that the lie she had told about the parentage of her child was now on everyone's lips.

"Pirate slut," one soldier would murmur in passing. "Dirty Jezebel," another would whisper. And then her absolute favorite: "Whore of Thieves". Quite clever, she had to admit. A life on a ship was definitely not one for a woman, and had she not had to deal with this her entire life, perhaps she would never have gone on deck. Her maid's face reddened every time she heard what the soldiers whispered to Eleanor in passing. But Eleanor had heard it all. Words could not hurt her.

"I would fuck that bitch in every orifice," one soldier was telling his friends on the deck after a week of travel. This time at least it had not been said to her face. The maid walking dutifully beside her looked aghast.

"But surely you wouldn't touch a dirty pirate whore like me with a ten foot pole, soldier," she said as she reached the group, making the man spin around to face her. At least he had the decency to look ashamed.

"I beg your pardon, ma'am," the soldier muttered. Eleanor looked at the man with disgust and turned her back on him. Not too many days left, she told herself. She would endure. She always did. And focusing on petty name calling was better than to think of what would happen when she finally got her feet back on the sands of Nassau. She did not dare to think of it. The image of Charles' face when she locked the gate would not leave her, however. It came to her in her dreams. It seemed that her unconscious mind was telling her what would happen when she got back. He would not be waiting for her. He would not be waiting or wanting any of this. And the only possible outcome she saw was him doing exactly what she had done to him. He'd turn his back on her, as she had done to him, surely. And nothing had scared Eleanor Guthrie as much as that one particular thought in a very, very long while.

On the other side of an ocean, unbeknownst to him, the only woman he had ever loved and their child of whom he knew nothing about, had set sail to come back home. The woman he had presumed would be dead in the matter of weeks would arrive with such news that the life Charles Vane had led from a young age would forever be changed. While she was on a ship worrying about the future with her heart in her throat, he was on a different ship, knowing nothing of her worries, and yet still, it was her face that was in his thoughts. Soon the world would come crashing down on him, but in that moment when he jumped on a ship and slit a man's throat to take what would now be his, he was blissfully ignorant. But that would come to an end very soon.


	3. Chapter 3

Home was mere hours away. She knew these waters, and an odd feeling of homecoming came over her, and a flutter inside of her let her know the child felt it as well. They were home now. And now she'd have to watch that home crumble to dust. Only hours later, the feeling of homecoming disappeared as she had to watch the men of war aiming their cannons at the fort, bringing it down, stone by stone. It seemed that with every stone, it was also taking apart something in her soul.

This was the military tactic that had been suggested by Rogers' most trusted advisors, and she had kept her mouth shut. She knew the tactic to be foolish. For another enemy it might have worked. They would have bent the knee and everything would be under English control once more. She knew better. These men would never in their life bend a knee after their home had been so viciously attacked. Another course of action might have made them more agreeable to accept the pardons that Rogers was so eager to offer. But after they had been attacked? Eleanor highly doubted it. Had she been otherwise inclined, she might have offered her advice. Had she not been carrying Charles Vane's child, she might have considered making their plan more successful. She might have given the advice, and climbed on the ladder for as long as it took for her to achieve a position that matched the one she had held before all this. Alas, she was carrying his child, and that had shifted something. So Eleanor Guthrie watched as the fort came down, unable to think of anything else than lying in bed next to Charles, looking into those eyes and feeling the rough skin under her palm. For some unfathomable reason that image came near to brining tears to her eyes. She dismissed it as the fault of her condition. What Eleanor Guthrie was unwilling to admit was that the image of Charles Vane forever branded in her brain was not the fault of her pregnancy, but the fault of her feelings toward him. Feelings that she had been carrying with her since she was just a girl of sixteen. Come hell or high water, those feelings never left. Not even when she had hated him and had sworn to take his life. Not even then.

On another ship, the man who Eleanor could not rid of her mind was also watching the fort crumble to dust. And he also had an image branded in his brain, first the soft woman and her sighs of pleasure as she shivered under the touch of his calloused hand. Then they shifted to the same woman locking the gate right in front of him, looking him in the eye, only a touch of remorse on her face. And just as Eleanor Guthrie, Charles Vane also refused to acknowledge the depth of his feelings toward her. He knew it to be true, but he despised himself of the fact that even after she locked that gate, the feelings living inside his chest refused to die. No matter how hard he tried. And now when Blackbeard was standing beside him, handing him the spyglass telling him where to point it, it felt like a kick in the chest. Seeing her on that deck, dressed in finer clothing that she had ever wore. Or perhaps she once had, he thought and an image of a thirteen-year old Eleanor Guthrie strutting down the beach in her fine clothing invaded his mind. Now she looked regal, quite the same as before, and yet somehow changed.

Charles had never thought he would see her again, she was supposed to be put to death, and yet here she was, standing on the deck of an English ship. She truly could survive anything.

"Charles," Blackbeard started but he waved his hand in dismissal. Seeing her had felt like someone had knocked the breath out of him.

"She's a dead woman," Charles said with a low voice, half believing he meant it. He wanted to mean it, and he would act according to it, he was a man of his word after all, and yet that woman would never be dead to him, not even if she was buried six feet under. For if she was dead and buried, a part of him would be right there with her in the grave

***.

The takeover of Nassau was less bloody than she had expected. She had expected a fight, a full blown battle, but it never came, and she felt foolish to have expected one. The people on this island might not have been educated, but they were not stupid. So the English essentially just got of their boats and walked on the beach as if they owned the place. But as they walked from the beach to the town, the soldiers in front, Eleanor trailing behind them, she could see it in their face. They had not given up by any means. Their eyes flashed in rage as they saw the redcoats walk into their home, and when they saw her, the anger deepened. She had always expected to find nothing but enemies here, but she was still taken aback by the intensity of the rage in their eyes as they saw her approach. Some even spat on her feet. Disgusting.

It was most likely out of habit that she stopped by the tavern door, scanning for Rogers. He stood talking to one of his advisors, but found her looking at him. She gazed at the tavern door as an indication that she wanted to go in. He nodded solemnly and Eleanor took a deep breath. Now she was truly home. From outside it looked as if she had never even left. She opened the door and her nostrils were hit with the familiar scent of rum and vomit. There were only three men inside drinking, she nodded at them, but they paid her no mind. She headed to her office. She did not even knock, why would she? She had never in her life knocked on that door. What she saw inside did shock her, and yet she knew it should not have.

"Max," Eleanor breathed as she stepped into the office. She was seated in Eleanor's chair, her eyes on hers as she looked at the woman who had just stepped into her office. To Eleanor's eye Max looked more beautiful than ever. It must have been the clothing and the hair. The clothes she wore were finer than any whore could have afforded, and her hair had clearly been done by someone other than herself.

"Eleanor, I was wondering when you'd find yourself on my doorstep," she said with the honeyed tone she always used.

"Well, here I am. It seems you've managed to elevate your station quite a bit," Eleanor observed. She let her eyes search the room and take in all the pretty items Max had put on her table. Eleanor's style had always been more practical, why gather knickknacks when some pirate called Charles Vane would inevitably come sit on her chair and knock them over with his feet on the table or the same pirate would swipe the table clear as he bent her down on it to fuck her. That simply would have been unpractical.

"Power is very fickle in a place like this, it never rests on one pair of shoulders for long," Max mused and Eleanor nodded in agreement. The flash of jealousy Eleanor felt soon left her. Truly, if she could have anyone sitting on that chair besides her, it was Max. The part that still harbored guilt over what had happened to her eased a bit. Max was a survivor. She had found herself on top.

Eleanor could feel Max eyeing her, up and down, until her eyes settled on her breasts. At first Eleanor thought it was just a look an old lover would give, but as a light went on in Max's eyes, Eleanor realized it was a different look entirely.

"Your breasts look quite magnificent, if you don't mind me saying," Max noted. She did not have to say it out loud. It was clear in her eyes that just by looking at Eleanor for a minute or two, she had figured out she was with child. Only one other person in this world knew her body as well as Max did, and it was clear in Max's eyes that she knew exactly who put her in this condition.

"He is on the island, if you were wondering," Max said with the most casual tone she could manage. She was so clearly enjoying this. How the tables had turned. Last time they had stood like this, Eleanor had been the woman in charge, and Max had not been much more than a whore. Now Max held all the power, and here Eleanor was, pregnant, unmarried and altogether without any sort of true power. It felt like a punch in the gut. Just then she felt the small flutter in her belly. Without thinking she put her hand on the bump and smiled.

As Max watched Eleanor, touching her belly and smiling, it truly hit her that this woman standing before her was not the same person she had last seen. It was clear as day she was with child, and it was also clear as day that Charles Vane was about to become a father. It seemed odd that Eleanor Guthrie of all people would touch her stomach in a loving manner and smile like she had never been happier when she had just been faced with the reality that Max had taken her place in this island. It was absolutely nothing like Eleanor Guthrie. And yet Max couldn't help but to smile and then hide her laughter as she thought of the two most unlikely people trying to raise an actual human being.

"Does he know?" Max asked, feeling like she was intruding into the private moment Eleanor was having with her unborn child. Eleanor shook her head.

"I only realized when I was halfway across the Atlantic. And he doesn't have to know," Eleanor replied, only half meaning it, but one part of her did wish that she would not have to face Charles and see him turn his back on them. She simply did not want to live through that. Max snorted at her reply.

"I just told you he's on the island. Yes, he might not show his face to the English, but you'll be foolish not to think you two will cross paths. And if I could tell from the moment I looked at you, do you think he would not?" Eleanor turned away from Max. She was of course right. It was simply how the laws of nature worked. Charles Vane and Eleanor Guthrie simply could not be in the same place without crossing paths. He'd know, and she'd have to face him. She hadn't in earnest thought she would not have to see him, but she had clung to that fantasy as long as it was possible. Now they both were in Nassau, and she would have to talk to him. She would have to lay down all her cards and just wait for him to do what he wanted with that information.

"Yes, you are right. But this will not be that day. And I would appreciate it that you kept this to yourself. Well, the parentage of the child I mean. The English know I am with child, but I decided to let them believe I did not know who the father was." Max nodded. It was the smart thing to do. Had she told them she was carrying Charles Vane's child, they would have never let her come back to Nassau.

"Your secret is safe with me," Max assured her.

"Thank you," Eleanor said and turned to take her leave. It had somehow lifted a burden off her now that she was not the only soul in the world who knew the truth. As she walked out of the tavern, her step was just a fraction lighter.

From their designated hideout, Charles Vane peered into the spyglass and watched as Eleanor Guthrie walked out of the tavern. Now their distance was somewhat closer than it had been this morning when the English tore down the fort. He still felt there was something different about her, other than her clothes and hair. But he could not pinpoint it. By his side, Anne Bonny lowered her spyglass and spat onto the ground.

"That fucking bitch just won't die," she rasped. Charles turned to look at her with a hard expression on his face.

"Eleanor is mine to deal with," was all he said. Anne gave him a look that said all the words she wanted to say to his face. Namely telling him what an idiot he was.

"You should stay away from the bitch, she clouds your judgement," she mumbled, knowing very well she shouldn't have said that. In a fraction of a second he had a dagger resting against her thigh. One stab there and she'd bleed out before anyone could do anything about it.

"I said she's mine," he said in a tone that left nothing to the imagination.

"Yes, she's yours. But you've always been more hers than she yours," she said and spat on the ground again. Those words made Charles grimace and withdraw his dagger. Those were words that cut him deeper than any dagger could. And worst of all, he had always known them to be true. From the day he met her, until this day. _Fuck,_ was all he thought as he looked at Eleanor's back walking away from him.

 **AN: If anyone's reading this, comments would be much appreciated :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Thank you so much for the reviews, they made my day and made me write way faster than usual :) So here is chapter four, I really hope you'll like this one.**

Anne Bonny had known Charles Vane for years and during those years she had learned that he was not an unintelligent man, he was not the feral dog some people painted him to be. He was not irrational by any means, unless it concerned one Eleanor Guthrie. Just two days ago he'd had his dagger on her thigh for daring to suggest that the bitch made him act like an idiot. Charles always made smart choices, but never when it concerned that woman. So when a rumor that was whispered in the streets of Nassau came to her knowledge, she knew she wasn't going to tell him. The rumor had it that Eleanor Guthrie was pregnant. No one seemed to know whose child it was, and there were guesses flying around, more and more ridiculous every passing hour. Of course Anne Bonny didn't really know Eleanor Guthrie at all, and for all she knew it was Flint who had fathered the child as one drunken sailor had told everyone willing to listen to his theory in the tavern. But Anne still had a funny feeling that it indeed was not Flint, Mr. Scott or Woodes Rogers who was the father to be. No, she was willing to bet money on Charles Vane being the father. The rumors of Eleanor's state had clearly not reached Charles yet, for he was acting like his rational self, and not the mad man he turned into when Eleanor was on his mind. Anne was certain that the rumor mill always quieted when Charles stepped into the room. People were afraid of him, that was for sure. And if anyone else besides Anne suspected that he had indeed gotten the Queen of Thieves pregnant, then no one had been spreading that rumor too eagerly. So Charles was in the dark, and Anne had no intention of fixing the situation. They had much more important business to consider, and they needed him focused. She spat on the ground and cursed the day Charles Vane had laid eyes on Eleanor Guthrie. The two of them together were nothing but trouble. Well, chaos more like. Like a looming hurricane that you knew was coming, and could only take shelter and hope for the best.

Eleanor could feel something was about to happen, something quite big. It was the feel in the air, the way people were acting. She knew the signs, but she kept quiet. She sat in the governor's salon from morning till late at night and advised on things Rogers needed her insight on. She gave away only trivial information, and he was bound to notice that sooner or later, but so far she had managed not to give away anything substantial. Alas, she did not even know what was about to happen, so she was not lying, just withholding information. Night fell and she finally got to rest her aching feet, still wondering when that something big was going to happen. She needn't wait for long though as only after an hour a loud explosion filled the air. Then men shouting, running around with their weapons, children crying, just utter panic. She slowly got out of the bed and went to her window, only to see an English man of war on fire. The sight brought a faint smile to her face, and a name danced on her lips, for who else could be behind all this.

Charles was also smiling, already far away from the ship engulfed in fire. It had been too easy to introduce fire to where they stored their powder. All too easy. They may be fighting an uphill battle with the English, and they might not win the war, but they surely had won this round. He smiled at their success and gulped down some rum. Now they could celebrate. That would be the last night Charles Vane was blissfully ignorant of the secret Eleanor had been literally carrying around with her.

The fire that had caused the explosion on the English ship had caused quite the chaos during the night and the next day. Nothing could be salvaged of course, and they were unable to locate the perpetrators. Eleanor had to sit with Rogers and his advisors for the whole day and long hours into the evening. She was barely helpful at all, but for some reason Rogers insisted. Perhaps he was afraid he had dragged her to the other side of the ocean for nothing and wanted to keep an eye on her. She did not know and she did not care. They could not execute her, that was all that mattered. Of course it would be ideal that they would have no such intentions even after the child had been born, but right now it would have to do.

It was close to midnight when she finally walked out of the governor's house and directed her steps toward the tavern. Max had not exactly been happy to allow her to reside in there, but she had agreed none the less, and that was all that mattered to Eleanor. She did not want to live too close to the English, she already had to spend almost every waking hour with them. As she reached the door, a whiff of the scent of the sea filled her nostrils. After a moment of hesitation, she turned her back on the door and started walking toward the beach. She had not properly been on the beach in months, and now this urge to go and stand on the beach with her feet in the ocean filled her. So she walked as long as she reached the quiet and peaceful place that held so many memories. They all flooded to her mind as she decided she needed to go further into the sea. She started undressing herself, to spare the expensive dress from the salt water. She stepped out of the dress, standing on the beach in her white see through shift. Anyone could have seen here and yet she did not care. The sea seemed to be calling her name and she needed to feel it around herself. She walked on, so far that the water hit her breasts. She breathed out in relief as she let the ocean take hold of her and float her body. The hum of the ocean in her ears as she let her head meet the waves felt like a welcome. She was right back where she belonged.

After what felt like hours, she swam a few strokes closer to the shore and got back on her feet, the wet fabric of her shift clinging to every curve of her body, leaving her practically naked.

"I really shouldn't be surprised that you not only evaded your execution, but also managed to get back to Nassau," an all too familiar voice rasped in the shadows. That was a voice she had not heard in months, but one she would recognize anywhere. It sent shivers down her spine and every little hair on her skin was standing up. With a deep breath she turned her eyes on the man who was taking slow steps toward the sea, to her. Even from this distance she could smell the scent of smoke and rum coming from his way. He looked the same as ever, in clothes that he always wore, his hair long as it had been through all the years she had known him. His stance was confident, yet relaxed in that 'I don't give a fuck' way that only Charles Vane could perfectly master.

She had expected to feel somehow different when she would see him again after all that had happened. Yet it felt eerily familiar, this was the man who she had loved, who would always stay with her in some way, the man who she carried in her soul. And now she carried his child. The conversation that was about to happen made her taste bile in her mouth. Eleanor Guthrie was not a woman who got scared easily. But in this moment, she was so fucking scared she scarcely could open her mouth to form words.

"Well, they couldn't have executed me anyway, so getting back here was rather easy," she said with the most neutral tone she could manage, considering her heart was in her throat and she felt sick due to nervousness. Her words made his eye brows rise just a hint, not sure what she meant. So she walked closer, the water now only reaching her knees. The shift she was wearing provided no privacy. He could see everything. Everything. His gaze travelled from her eyes to her breasts and then finally to her belly. He didn't seem to react in any way. He stood there and stared at her stomach with an unchanged expression. Then suddenly his eyes lifted to meet hers again and for a good while he just held her gaze.

"They couldn't execute you," he rasped, still unmoving, but realization filling his eyes.

"Not for five months," she almost whispered and brought her hand on her belly out of habit. That small gesture suddenly made his expression waver. Eleanor could have sworn she saw a hint of anger touch his features.

"So, who's the lucky bastard?" he asked with such indifference in his voice that it felt like he was twisting a knife in her heart. Had she not had such a thick skin she might have cried at those words.

"Who do you think?" she asked, her voice slightly higher. He shook his head.

"How should I know who you fuck." A slight tremble travelled through her body. She told herself it was because of the coldness of the night air against her wet body, but in reality it was his words. Words that made her fight back a tear that threatened to find its way down her cheek.

"I may be the Whore of Thieves for the English, but I really thought you knew me better." His lips turned into an insincere smile, a sneer more like.

"I thought I knew you, Eleanor. Then you turned that key in the lock. You could have been fucking any number of men for all I know." His words felt like a whip across her back.

"I think you knew me better than I thought you did. You got out of there. You saw it coming didn't you?"

"Yes, I did. Doesn't change the fact that you still turned your back on me the first chance you got," his voice was calm, but there was something below the surface and the unsaid 'again' lingered in the air between them.

"I did. And then I wanted you dead for what you did to retaliate. I wanted to see the life drain out of you. I hated you so much, Charles," she said chocking on her words a bit when his name finally came out her mouth. Next, it felt like she was screaming.

"I hated you! I wanted you dead! And then... I realized there was a life growing inside of me and I realized how much I loved it already. That I loved a fetus more than he ever loved me! So yes, by all means call me a whore like everyone else does. I don't give a damn. I'm having this child, and yes it is yours, Charles. No other man has touched me since I was twenty-two years old! So unless by some miracle I've been immaculately impregnated, then congratulations, you're going to be a father," she finished and walked out of the water, grabbing her dress with her from the sand and leaving Charles Vane on the beach. Finally, she allowed the tears to fall down her face.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Yay I got reviews! Thank you so much, it really makes me so happy to hear you are enjoying this fic :)  
So here's the next chapter, it has overlap with the last one, but from Charles' POV. I don't usually like doing that, but I just felt the need to do it this time. I hope you'll like this one :)**

When Charles walked on that beach late at night, he hadn't exactly expected to walk into Eleanor Guthrie. Sure, she had been on his mind when his legs decided to take him there. But in his thoughts she was a girl, a young woman and she was standing in his arms, wet from their swim in the ocean, and she looked at him, and she seemed so scared. And then for the first time, she told him she loved him. He had of course laughed at her, from relief because now he knew she felt the love too, but he had laughed none the less and she had ended up calling him all kinds of names. That was a memory that he always kept coming back to. There had been plenty memorable moments in Charles' life, but that moment of her confessing her love, it was among the very best. Now that he thought of it, a good deal of his most memorable moments were about Eleanor on this beach. It brought a smile on his lips as he reached the beach, and as he realized the smile had crept on his face he grimaced. He wanted to keep those feelings buried. Like he had promised to Teach, she was a dead woman. Still, when he was alone, and on that beach, Eleanor was all he could think about. And perhaps it was fate or perhaps it was coincidence, but there she was, standing in the water, her shift clinging to her skin, the moon light creating a halo around her head. For a second he considered turning around and pretending he had never seen her. But that just simply wasn't how Charles Vane handled things. So he called out to her.

"I really shouldn't be surprised that you not only evaded your execution, but also managed to get back to Nassau," he said and she turned to his direction. She looked as beautiful as ever all wet and naked, just like all those years ago, now just a tad bit older. The feeling he had fought to keep buried in his chest tried it's damnest to claw its way out as he saw her. He felt her presence all over his body. In some parts more than in others.

"Well, they couldn't have executed me anyway, so getting back here was rather easy," she answered, her tone neutral, but he knew her, better than anyone and it was almost too easy to detect the hint of trembling in her voice. The woman in front of him might look a bit different but deep down she would always be that girl he fell in love with. And once you have loved someone as much as Charles loved Eleanor, you'd never unlearn the small things they did that gave away their true feelings.

Her words made him lift his brows, unsure of what she meant. He let his eyes travel down, sweep past her breasts and then... then his eyes rested on her belly and it hit him, it hit him like the hardest blow in the gut, knocking air out of lungs, leaving him trying to catch his breath. So this was what was different about her. His mind and body froze and he thought of nothing and yet of everything.

"They couldn't execute you," he finally managed to say, sounding like an utter idiot.

"Not for five months," she admitted in a whisper. He stared into her eyes, willing himself to spot the lie in her words, but there was none to be found. Five months... that meant... four months ago... No, he refused to go there. She had turned her back on him, she had betrayed him. He had left him to die. Well, for all she knew she had left him to die. She had put her self-interests before him, once again. That was a wound that still had not healed and he thought it never would, for he had always loved her, and it was clear as day she never had loved him like he loved her.

"So, who's the lucky bastard?" he asked with a voice he hardly recognized as his own.

"Who do you think?"

"How should I know who you fuck." The words were out of his mouth before he ever knew what he was going to say. The hurt in her face was perhaps more obvious than he had ever seen it. Some part of him hated seeing her hurt, but right now, the dominant part of him wanted her to feel hurt, as hurt as he had felt during those times she had just left him behind. He wanted to distance himself from her, from the emotions that she evoked in him, and trying to do that just made him cruel.

"I may be the Whore of Thieves for the English, but I really thought you knew me better." The hurt in her eyes was so painfully clear now he almost regretted his words. Almost.

"I thought I knew you, Eleanor. Then you turned that key in the lock. You could have been fucking any number of men for all I know." He hadn't meant to say all that. He didn't want her to see how she had made him feel back then. That would be handing too much power to her. And with Eleanor, power was a dangerous thing. So very dangerous.

"I did. And then I wanted you dead for what you did to retaliate. I wanted to see the life drain out of you. I hated you so much, Charles," she spat out the words. He almost laughed. The man she had wanted him dead for was so worthless. She deserved so much more, and yet she had hated him for it. Hated the only person who had ever truly loved her. He hadn't truly expected anything else from her, and yet it still stung. He almost told her that, but she hadn't finished speaking.

"I hated you! I wanted you dead! And then... I realized there was a life growing inside of me and I realized how much I loved it already. That I loved a fetus more than he ever loved me! So yes, by all means call me a whore like everyone else does. I don't give a damn. I'm having this child, and yes it is yours, Charles. No other man has touched me since I was twenty-two years old! So unless by some miracle I've been immaculately impregnated, then congratulations, you're going to be a father." With that she gathered her dressed from the ground and left him standing there, on the beach where he had first heard she loved him. Now on the same place he had heard how much she had hated him. And more importantly how she was having a child. No, how _they_ were having a child.

For what felt like forever, he stood frozen in the place she had left him. His mind refused to work. Not a single coherent thought crossed his mind. Absolute emptiness was all that was in his head. Finally, he let his body slide down on to the sand. He sat there, trying to process what had just happened. Nothing made sense to him, absolutely nothing.

"Charles, mate, you shouldn't be here, the English could find you any moment," Jack's voice murmured somewhere behind him.

"I saw her," was all he said.

"Ah," Jack sigh and sat down next to him. "So I take it she told you the happy news." Those words finally grabbed Charles' attention enough to make him look his friend in the eye.

"You knew?" he accused, his voice slightly louder than it perhaps should have been.

"Well, yes. It is quite the talk in town, you know. She had of course let the new governor know she could not be executed. So naturally it did not take long for his men to find out, and well soldiers are terrible at keeping anything secret. No one seemed to be sure of the father, though. Seems she told the English she had no idea who it could be. But really, anyone who knows the two of you didn't have to think twice."

"Why didn't you tell me? And how can you be so sure it's mine, she has shown me where her loyalties lie more than once and it has never been with me." His voice was harsh and demanding, but Jack was so used to it after all these years that he paid it no mind.

"Charles, did you really expect us to tell you that we had heard a rumor that your former lover was pregnant right before our mission? I like to think of myself as a smart man, and telling you would have been the opposite of smart, and you know it. You seem to lose your wits whenever Miss Guthrie is concerned. And yes, she has turned her back on you many times and doesn't exactly aspire my trust and yet... there is absolute no evidence of any other viable candidate for the child's father," Jack said in that cheerful voice Charles sometimes couldn't stand. Now was one of those times.

"Fine, you couldn't tell me. But there is no way of knowing it is my child," he growled. Jack laughed.

"Why are you laughing?" Charles demanded, ready to make him silent for good if he had to, just to get rid of that smug face.

"Charles, Eleanor Guthrie is quite a high profile figure in this place, as you are well aware of. From the second your torrid love affair started all those years ago, everyone knew, literally everyone on this island. When it ended, it was also known. Then there were some rumors of few men, none of them sticking around for long enough to anyone remember their names. Then it was Max and then right back to you. As you can see, I know awfully lot about one woman's love life for someone who doesn't have any sort of relationship to that woman. Everything that woman does on this island doesn't stay hidden for a long. And four months ago, she had a lot on her plate. I'm surprised she even had time for you, and even less for some hypothetical man."

Everything Jack was saying made sense. He had heard all those rumors himself, punched a few faces for them as well. And yet still he tried to cling on to the possibility that she had not only turned her back on him, but gotten pregnant by some other man. Then he could continue to try and trample down the feelings living in his chest. If he would accept it to be the truth... then all that trampling down would crumble to dust and he would be right back where he started. Loving a woman who would never love him like he loved her.

"I can't go down that road again, Jack," he admitted. Charles never spoke like this. He did not speak what he felt, and Jack understood. He offered him a bottle of rum which Charles took and eagerly gulped down way more of the liquid than he should have. He could not accept the truth that was right in front of him. He couldn't, not yet. So he drank more rum. And some more.

By some miracle, Jack had dragged the highly intoxicated Charles Vane back to the empty apartment they had been hiding in. Sure, Jack had gotten help, but he was still impressed he had managed to get Charles in bed without an English officer discovering them. Now he was sleeping, fitfully, a woman's name escaping his lips every once in a while. Jack sighed. Couldn't be easy to find out a woman who had betrayed you was having your child. Whenever he watched the shit storm that was Eleanor Guthrie and Charles Vane, he was so glad he and Anne had something more solid. They were like a rock, unchanging and unmoving, always there for each other in the ways they were needed. Charles and Eleanor... they were like the damn sea, sometimes calm, giving you plentiful bounty and then the next so stormy it took all your men and the ship with it, never to be seen again. So, he couldn't really fault Charles for refusing to face reality. But it would have to be soon. On his bed, Charles stirred a bit and turned to empty the contents of his stomach.

"Fuck," he cursed. He sat up, just a tiny bit and let out a deep sigh. "I'm gonna be father for fucks sake," he mumbled and then threw up again. Jack shook his head. He couldn't really imagine the future, Charles Vane as a parent, yet he couldn't help but to smile. He deserved some happiness, perhaps this was his chance of getting it. _Hopefully_.


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Thanks for the review, Lacontreras! I really wonder the same things as well :) So yeah here's chapter six, I really loved writing this, so I hope you'll like this.**

Charles had no idea for how many days he had been drinking. The passage of time was simply irrelevant when you were trying to escape reality. And yet it still kept fighting to come back to the surface. No amount of rum could keep it buried for long. The night came as it did and Charles was simply too drunk to even lift the bottle to his lips to drink some more. So he accepted his fate and laid his head down.

The dreams that came to him were almost a repeat of the opium hazed dream he had had after Eleanor had taken away his ship. In the dream she looked odd, polished, without any visible flaws on her face. She was unreal as people in dreams often are.

"I never really loved you," she kept whispering, stroking his chest as she spoke. "Did you really think we would last?" She said and then laughed coldly. "Did you think we'd be a family?" She just laughed and laughed, realizing every word he thought she had been thinking. She never really loved me. _She never really loved me._ Charles woke up with tears in his eyes.

A week had passed since that day on the beach. Eleanor had finally confronted him, and gotten exactly the reaction she had feared. He wanted nothing to do with her, nothing to do with her child. She had run back to the tavern and let all the tears out. She cried for a long time, crying for herself, and for the child who would grow up without a father. Just like she had. That thought brought even more tears to her eyes. All Eleanor had ever wanted was her father to love her, and he never did. He never truly cared, he had wanted a son, and she was never truly good enough. Eleanor did not believe there was a god, and yet she prayed the child would be a boy. She prayed it would not be a girl for she did not think she'd be able to watch her own child struggle in this world as she had struggled. First as an unwanted child, who did not receive love, and then as the woman she had grown up to be, where she was not respected, where she tried to take care of herself, relying on no one, and yet still often failing. This world was a cruel place for a girl, and she did not want that to be the fate of her own child.

Tears rolled down her cheeks. God how she fished for a boy, but at the same time she touched her stomach and promised: _Even if you are a girl, I will love you more than I can ever show you. You are wanted. You are loved. I will always love you, and I will love you enough to make up for a father who you will never know. I promise._ She let the tears dry when there simply were no more tears in her. At that moment, when the tears ran their course, she did what Eleanor Guthrie always did, she pulled herself together and told herself she could do this. If she had to raise this child, she would and she would be excellent at it. And even if she did not truly believe it, she told herself Charles Vane did not matter to her, but alas he mattered to her. He mattered so much it was hard to even comprehend.

After that night, she went on with the week as she had intended, sitting at meetings with Rogers and doing her best to appear helpful. She refused to think of the beach. She absolutely refused. And yet she could not help but to think of him, his questioning if he really was the father. It hurt. It hurt so fucking much, and yet she wasn't surprised. Their relationship had never actually been built on trust and what little trust they'd had built through the years; she had always seen to it that it would be ripped to shreds. She couldn't expect him to trust her word, but that did not make it hurt any less. She tried so very hard to push those feelings aside and carry on with her week, but that was far easier said than done.

After a week of drinking and after that dream that realized every doubt Charles had ever had, he was in shambles. Not that he would ever admit to it. Still, there was no end in sight to his drinking. Not until Anne did what she did.

"Get up you fucking miserable bastard," she cursed and kicked him in the ribs. The state he was in he could do little else than to groan in pain. Anne squatted down next to his face.

"You had your time to wallow in self-pity, now get a fucking handle of yourself, Charles. Be a fucking man. I don't give a shit what you do with her, or the baby, but for fuck's sake decide, so I don't have to keep seeing and smelling you like this every day," she griped and got up, delivering a final kick to his ribs. Had it been anyone else doing the kicking, they would have been missing a head by now. But it was Anne, and he finally managed to get into an upright position. She was right, it was time to collect himself, to be Charles Vane.

Another week, this one without a single tear. Eleanor chuckled. Since when had she been proud of such a thing? She could not remember crying like this ever in her life, not even when she was a child. Carrying the child must be at fault in some way. She was carrying on, she kept breathing, pushing forward. It was after another late night when she walked back to the tavern, thinking of how the child kept growing every day. It seemed so unreal to her. When she reached the staircase of the tavern, Max's voice called her from the office.

"Eleanor, could you come in for a moment?" Eleanor turned around to do as she asked, mildly curious. She and Max had barely talked during the weeks she had lived here. She cracked the door open, seeing Max sitting there in candle light, papers spread out on the table. That had been her not too long ago. It was an odd feeling, and yet Max looked like she belonged there.

"Yes?" she asked by the door to gain Max's attention. She stood up and extended her hand in which she was holding a piece of paper.

"From him," was all she needed to say for Eleanor to understand who she was talking about. Just the thought of him made her heart race and her palms sweat. She reached for the tiny note like it was her lifeline.

"Thank you," Eleanor murmured as she touched the paper. Max didn't let go at first. Eleanor looked up from the note to look into Max' eyes. A faint smile graced her lips.

"He's a good man, you know," she said solemnly. Eleanor was a bit taken aback by the words.

"I know. I just don't always bare to see that," Eleanor whispered, already fighting back tears. Max nodded and let go of the note. Eleanor got out of the office as fast as she could, but did not manage to reach her room before the need to open the note got the better of her. It was written in his hand, unsigned and all it read was " _Meet me at where we both fell. Tonight."_ Eleanor swallowed and a mix of emotions rushed over her. She smiled, but the tears she had kept at bay for a week were unleashed once again. The note was unintelligible to anyone else but the two of them. To both of them it was clear as day.

 _Where they both fell..._ She remembered that day so vividly. She had been young and adventurous, and suggested they get out of the town and walk to the edge of the woods to have sex some place other than his bed. Even the thought of it brought a smile on her face. She had been so young. And trying to find a discreet enough place, she had fallen into a huge hole in the ground. Probably dug for hunting, but to this day she wasn't sure what that hole had been doing there. Charles had laughed so much, not helping her get out of the damned hole, so she had to climb out of it herself. A year later, he had confessed in the darkness of his camp on the beach, that it had been the day he had first realized that he loved her. "See, we both fell that day," he had whispered in her ear and then bit her ear lobe, his hands travelling down her body. That memory brought shivers across her skin. She wanted not to feel anything, but she did. For a moment she was that young woman, feeling the greatest feeling she had ever felt, love. She had loved him so much. No matter how much she had tried to fight it, she had loved him, and he had loved her. So she headed out the door in the darkness, to the place where they both fell.

As he waited for her, he cursed himself for choosing this place. Why had he chosen it? It had just come to him and here he was, standing on the edge of the woods, now in the darkness. Back then it had been a sunny day, when she fell and he had realized he had fallen as well. God, how he had loved that woman. Then it hadn't been painful yet. Now even the thought of her was like a stab in the back. He lit a cigar, it calmed him. Before long he could see her form approaching. The look on her face was hard, but he could see the curiosity in her features, shining though the mask she put on every day to fool everyone. And she did fool them, but not him, never him.

"Here I am, Charles. What do you want?" she asked in a cold tone. He knew she was trying to regain control of the last time they had met and she had been anything but calm and collected. He let the cigar drop to the ground and stepped on it, putting it out. He hadn't exactly thought of how this would go, and fuck he was nervous.

"I believe you," was what he said. Eleanor lifted her chin, giving him the look that made men feel like nothing when they stood next to her.

"And?" She asked, not giving anything away, she one again held all the cards and he had nothing.

"I want to be there. I don't want to know I have a child and then know nothing about it." There, he had said it. After Anne had kicked him out of the floor, he had sobered up. The most prominent thought in his mind had been how he didn't want to miss it. He never knew his parents, and he didn't want that to his child, never.

"Okay," was all she said, her voice small. Her posture slumped a bit and he was almost sure he saw a tear roll down her face, but that couldn't be true, for Eleanor Guthrie never cried.

"Okay?" She nodded.

"Yes, Charles. Okay. I can raise this child on my own, you know I can do fucking anything I set my mind on. But I don't want to," she cried. Now he was sure she was crying. In fact, she was sobbing, tears rolling down her cheeks. He was shocked, and simply did not know what to do or what to say. Had he ever even seen a woman cry? He wasn't sure.

"I really don't want to. My mother died when I was young and all I had was my father. And what kind of father was he... He never loved me, and all I ever wanted was for him to love and accept me for who I was. But that never happened. I want something better for this baby. I love it so much, Charles," she sobbed. "I love it more than myself, and I need it to be okay, and I think it will need its father to be okay. If you love it even a fraction of how much I love it, I know it will be alright. That's all I want. For you to love it," She was shielding her face with her hands, quiet sobs still escaping her lips.

This was not the woman Charles knew. Never, in all the years he had known her, had he seen such genuine emotion coming out of her. It baffled him and he didn't know what to do with this, so he acted on instinct. He reached to her hand and pulled it out of her face. The feel of her hand was so familiar, soft and small, hers.

"Eleanor, I promise, I will be there, and I will love it. I could never be your father. I could never not love something that is a part of you, you must know that." She looked into his eyes, her face wet with tears, a sparkle of hope lingering in her eyes.

"Charles," she sighed in relief and suddenly pulled him closer and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, resting her cheek against his shoulder. He pulled her even closer, his arms finding her waist, the place where they had been at home so long ago. The sobs shook her body and he stroked her hair.

"We'll be fine," he promised, even with so many unsaid things still between them. But now was not the time nor the place. What they both needed in that moment was to feel close to each other. That moment, in the place where they both fell was the beginning of the rest of rest of their lives. God knows it would not be easy, far from it. But they had taken that first step, and Charles would keep his promise. they would be fine. All three of them.


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: Sorry, I totally uploaded the wrong chapter last night! Thank you Serenitey for letting me know, I probably wouldn't have noticed otherwise. Anyway, this is chapter seven, and I hope you'll enjoy this. Again, terribly sorry for the mix up**

Eleanor lay in her bed, her eyes staring at the ceiling, going back to that moment in the woods. She had absolutely cracked, laid down her mask and let him see everything she had been thinking, everything that she had hid behind the mask she wore every day. And for the first time in her life, she did not regret it, and she did not feel like she couldn't breathe because she had lost control. It was something entirely new. Eleanor Guthrie had always kept a part of her hidden, always. She might tell people what she wanted, but never let them show what she truly needed. And just hours ago, she had told him exactly what she needed. She needed him, to be there, and most of all, to love this child, _their child_. The thoughts of raising the child alone had mulled in her head, just her there to protect it against the cruelness of the world. She could have done it; she was Eleanor Guthrie after all. But the thing was, she did not need to do it alone. Charles was a man who never backed down on his word, he never lied, so she was sure the child would have a father that loved it. This child would have everything she had lacked. It would be happy; it would not push away everyone who ever tried to love it. It would have none of her faults, she wished. And having Charles there to make sure the child would not grow up like she had was all she had wanted to hear. He had promised to be there, so he would be there. She knew that. Despite that, there was still a sliver of doubt in her mind, what if he had just said those things to get back at her? What if he never meant those things at all and did not mean to love the child at all? She tried to push those treacherous thoughts away, yet she was left lying awake in her bed, not getting even an hour of sleep.

Across town, Charles was doing exactly the same thing as she was. He too was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling and thinking of what had just happened. He too had doubts in his mind, but not about wanting to be there for the child. No, he wanted to, he truly did. That was not the issue. He doubted if he was capable of being there, giving a child a normal life. His childhood had been anything but normal, and he wouldn't wish that on his worst enemy. This child deserved more, and he was not sure he'd be able to give that. Alas, he had made a promise and Charles Vane always kept his promises.

"So, what did you decide then?" Jack asked, still every bit as awake as Charles was, that nosy bastard.

"To do the right thing," he murmured.

"The right thing being what exactly?" Charles turned his eyes from the ceiling to Jack.

"I want to be there, be a part of it," he grudgingly admitted. Saying this out loud was a strain on him, yet he forced himself to do it. Might as well get a head start in getting out of his comfort zone.

"Congratulations, daddy," Jack said with a stupid grin in his face.

"Shut up, Jack," he said, like he always did.

"What's next? She can't exactly raise a child with a known pirate captain and work for the English at the same time." Fuck, Charles cursed. Jack was right, and he hadn't even stopped to think about it. What now?

"Well, you still got a few months to decide. Everything will work out. In the meantime, just don't fall in love with her again." With that, the only thought in Charles' head was, had he ever really fallen out of love with her.

"Don't worry, I won't", he lied.

Things weren't exactly straight forward. After the night in the woods, she had not seen him. She had heard of him though, spoken by the English officers in their meetings with disgusted voices as she just sat there right under their noses, her belly ever growing as Charles Vane's child grew inside it. It seemed like every time they mentioned his name, the baby would kick. Week by week, she would feel it move inside her more and more. She seemed to have lost her concentration on anything else when the baby moved. It was something like she had never experienced before and she wanted to cherish every moment

So she sat in meetings, hearing about what Charles had been up to, sabotaging the English, threatening people who wanted to take the pardons and so on. Yet she did not see him. She didn't really even know how to reach him, so se gritted her teeth and tried to accept the fact that he would have to be the one to contact her, not the other way around. She was practically fuming over it. It had been well over a week since they had met, and it was getting on her nerves. He had wanted to be there, and now he was nowhere to be found. She was practically seething as she walked into the tavern, damning Charles Vane in her head. As she walked past the office, the all too familiar scent of cigar smoke hit her nostrils and she turned back to stare at the door that had been left slightly ajar. It was the smell; she couldn't help herself. She had to crack open the door and step into her office, _Max's office_ , and see where the smell came from.

There, by the desk, he was smoking his cigar leisurely, his feet up on the table. For a second Eleanor stopped and took in the scene in front of her eyes. It was a replay of all those years before. Him coming to sit on her chair, just in attempt to irritate her. It always worked, which is why he did it, of course. Now, it was not her desk anymore, and yet he sat there like that, waiting for her. This time his position did the exact opposite it had always done before, now it soothed her nerves, calmed her anger about not seeing him. He was here, like he promised. She could have cried from relief, for until this moment, she had been so scared he had indeed made that promise to get back at her. But now he was here and Eleanor could finally breathe more easily.

He looked into her eyes, blowing smoke out of his lungs right at her.

"What's this, you're not going to tell me to get the hell out of your chair?" he asked in that deep raspy voice that never failed to make her shiver.

"As you might know, this is not my office anymore, therefore that is not my chair you're sitting on, and it is not my desk and papers you're dirtying with your boots," she said, slightly amused by the whole situation. It was almost comical, somehow. He moved his feet back on the ground.

"You never gave in that easily," Eleanor smiled and moved to the sofas in the back to get feet up. Lately it had gotten harder on her feet to stand for long periods of time. She sat down and sighed in relief as she lifted her feet up.

"What good is it for if it doesn't make you angry and frustrated?" A slight smile had crept on his face as well.

"Why are you always trying to get a rise out of me, Charles," she sighed and looked at the man sitting behind the desk. Why did he have to look so damn good, that bastard.

"The sex was always better after," he stated and got up from the chair, claiming a softer chair nearer Eleanor. She burst out in laughter at his words. The nerve the man had. She almost hit him with a comeback asking if that was what he was after now, sex, but she hesitated and dropped it. Saying that would be as if nothing had happened, as if they still had that kind of a relationship. But they didn't.

"At least you always tell the truth, Charles," she murmured. He nodded and left it at that, the smile now gone from his face.

"We need to talk, about the future," he started.

"What of it?"

"We can't exactly raise a child under the current conditions, now can we?" he said like he had been thinking about it. All Eleanor had been thinking was him turning his back on her, and here he was, thinking of the future, like it was real.

"I suppose you're right. I haven't exactly given it much thought, I must admit. My mind has been... occupied."

"It pains for me to admit this, but the English seem to be here to stay. Our resistance has not proven even nearly as effective as we hoped it did. I think it's safe to say, staying Nassau is out of the question." His words made her stop. Logically, they made sense, and yes she had perhaps thought of this at one point, but it had not fully registered with her, that she would have to leave Nassau, to settle somewhere else. It was hard for her to imagine herself out of Nassau, and even more so, it was almost impossible to imagine Charles Vane out of Nassau.

"You want to leave this place?" She asked the suspicion clear in her voice. He shook his head.

"This is not a matter of want, but of need. I'm a wanted man, Eleanor," he said and made a gesture as if to reach to touch her, but then thought otherwise, withdrawing his hand.

"So we must go. But where?" she asked, studying his features, his tanned skin and his appearance. Charles Vane was a pirate, more so than any other man in this island. If they left now, what would happen, what would become of the notorious pirate?

"There are several options, but the colonies of France and Spain in the Americas look most promising." His words just didn't fully register with her. The idea of leaving this island and settling down in some French or Spanish colony seemed unreal.

"But what will we do there? You can't be a pirate in New Mexico or Florida, Charles," she said with a small voice, unable to imagine the future they would have.

"That's irrelevant now, Eleanor. All we need to do now is make a plan, where are we going, how are we going to get there and when are we leaving. That is out only focus now." He said that with such preciseness that all she could do was to nod.

"Alright. The when is not an issue for me, all we need to do is leave without Rogers finding out. As to where, I would suggest Louisiana. New Orleans should be the kind of place one can disappear in." It seemed unreal, to be planning this, leaving this place. It seemed unthinkable.

"Fine, New Orleans it is. I'll look into the passage. But I doubt it will happen quickly. This might all take a couple of months." With the mention of time he glanced at her stomach. Time was of the essence here.

"Thank you," she mumbled, for some reason unable to look at him. He stood up from the armchair and hovered above her.

"I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing this for the child." And with that he was out of the door.

For a man who took pride in not lying, lately Charles Vane had been lying quite a lot. He mostly lied to himself. He had lied to himself that he did not care that Eleanor had betrayed him. He lied that her death would have no effect on him whatsoever, and then when she had turned out to be alive, he had lied that she was as good as dead. He had also lied to Jack, telling him there was no chance of him ever loving this woman again. Yet the tight feeling in his chest whenever she was close would not leave no matter how much he lied to himself he was just imagining it. And now he had lied to Eleanor that this was not for her. But it was all for her. She truly was Charles' greatest weakness. Even after all the pain she had caused him, he couldn't rip himself away from her, he couldn't stop caring. It pained him, it pained him so much, and yet he still kept doing everything for that woman. She needed him, and it hurt him to be close to her, but he did it, for he would do anything for that woman. Anything. Fucking anything. Still after all that had happened, he would fucking die for her and that child. And nothing hurt Charles more than the knowledge of his life not being his own, but hers. It had always been hers. What a fucking tragic life he led.

 **AN: Lacontreras, thank you for leaving a review once again, they really make me happy :) I hope you, and everyone else reading this, will feel that how this is gonna play out is gonna seem like a natural progression for both the characters, but ultimately this fic was based on a dream, and my ultimate goal is to fix everything I hated about season three, so yeah, I hope this fic will continue to go in a way that readers want it to :)**


	8. Chapter 8

Teach stood on the deck, the only light hitting his face the moonlight, illuminating the darkness. Charles stepped next to him. Looking at Nassau from the distance always made him feel a certain way. It was the feel of home, and a feel of anticipation. Of seeing her. Even in times when they had not even been on speaking terms, he couldn't help but to wish he'd see her, to feel her embrace, her hands all over his body. Now he thought of the woman who seemed so similar, yet felt so different, more open, more sincere, just more there.

"I've heard a rumor," Teach said, and Charles sighed. He had known it would only be a matter of time until he had to have this conversation. He had not looked forward to it, and even now he wished he was somewhere else entirely.

"I heard, that a certain woman who is helping the English to succeeded in their goals, is pregnant. With your child. Tell me this is just the talk of envious souls and bears no resemblance to reality, Charles." Teach kept staring at the island in front of him.

"I'm not going to lie to you, you deserve the truth. And yes, it is the truth. All of it," he admitted with a heavy heart. How did he always end up here, with Teach, choosing her over him?

"I'm so disappointed, Charles. That woman is poison, she is nothing, absolutely nothing compared to the goal we are trying to reach here. You need to get a hold of yourself, Charles. She's like the devil and she has her hooks on you. You got to get rid of her... I can do it for you, if that is what it takes, if you're not strong enough to do it yourself," Teach babbled, clearly having even more to say about her, but the words invoked such rage from Charles, that the blade of his sword was resting on the throat of Edward Teach before he even had thought it through.

"Don't you dare touch a hair on her head. No one touches her, or the child," he snarled from between his teeth. Teach let out an emotionless laugh.

"See what that woman has done to you! When she was just a girl she made you turn against me, drive me off the island, and then she cast you away, like you were nothing. And you still kept loving her, you fucking fool. And now she's back, just after we have reconciled all that happened between us all those years ago, and here we go again, you following her around like a lost puppy. Just waiting for her to cast you aside again. It's pathetic." Charles twisted the blade a bit, so that it made a small nick in the skin of his throat, drawing a bit blood.

"Well, this lost puppy has teeth, and he isn't afraid to use them. You fucking threaten her again and you will part with your head. Were you anyone else, you'd already be without it," he promised, the image of Ned Low's head on a spike flashed in his mind. That was a time when he had also lied. That he had not done it for her, but of course he had. When she was threatened he could not just stand by and wait for what would happen. Even the thought of Eleanor severely hurt was enough for him to want to part with his dinner. Teach was laughing again.

"Here we are again, Charles. You always choosing her, when she never chooses you. You know the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. You're losing yourself, for her. Or maybe you never had yourself, maybe it was always with her, to do as she wished. She is pulling your strings and you keep dancing like a puppet. You're blind if you can't see that," Teach said, the laughter now dead on his lips. The words he had said hit home, they really did.

"I'm not blind. I know what she's done, I fucking know, because every time I think about it, it feels like a sword through my heart. If anyone on this earth knows how she's treated me, how she's always chosen me second to her ambitions, it's me. I was there. Yet, I can't let go, I won't let go. I've tried, I have. But no one, not a single person in my life has ever meant to me what she means to me, not a single person has made me feel like she does. Do you know that feeling, when a woman just walks into the room, not even looking at you, and somehow just her presence is enough to make you feel like you're the fucking luckiest man on this goddamn earth?" Teach shakes his head, and Charles continues.

"I get that feeling every single fucking time when she walks into the room, when she looks at me, when she smiles at me, even when she is angry with me, even when she tries to hide herself. It fucking hurts me! She's everything to me, and I'm nothing to her. Don't ever think I don't know that. I know it with all my heart and soul, if I even have one. It tears me apart, and yet the only thing holding me together is her. It's fucked up, I know it is. I'm fucked up, and so is she. We're both so fucked up and now we're having a baby. Maybe it will be fucked up too, but I got to try. I'm sorry, Teach," he breaths and lowers the blade. Everything he never intended to say had now been said, and there it is, all his feelings laid out. He can't distance himself from her, no matter how she hurts him, he just can't. A life without her seems impossible, so he won't even attempt it, that would hurt a thousand times more than she could ever hurt him. And now there's a third person in this mess that is Eleanor and Charles, the growing child in her womb, blissfully ignorant of all the turmoil that is their lives.

"I feel sorry for you, Charles. No woman should ever have that sort of power over a man. You're the goddamn greatest pirate that Nassau has ever seen, Charles, and here you go, throwing it all away. How can you live with yourself?" He says and rubs his throat. The bleeding had stopped long ago, but Charles knew it still stung.

"Once I thought that the best thing that I would do with my life was to steal as much as I could, live free and then die while doing it. Then I realized it's no longer about me. I don't want my child to grow up without knowing who its father is. I can't be a pirate and a father to this child, you know I can't. So I'm making a choice." Charles said this in a low voice, all the anger run out of him by now.

"No one will remember Charles Vane the father, but everyone will remember Charles Vane the pirate. Great men can be fathers, but fatherhood is not for them. You can do so much more, Charles," Teach said, almost pleading now, not that the man ever pleaded.

"I think I've been great enough of a pirate for a life time, don't you think? Now I'll disappear, they'll say I died, and the legend will live on. At one point in my life I truly did want to die in a blaze of glory, with enemy blood on my face. But my life turned upside down the second I saw that my child was growing inside that woman. Now I want to see it born, take its first steps, hold a god damn sword and be book smart like its mother. You can fault me all you want for that, but I don't give a fuck." Teach kept looking at Charles. Ever since he met Charles as a boy, he'd always had the burn of emotions inside him, so very much unlike Teach. And that girl had him wrapped around her little finger, and now all those years later, absolutely nothing had changed.

"It's mothers that the children need, not fathers, Charles. You could already have any number of children running around for god's sake." The look on Charles' face was hard.

"Not with her," was what he said and turned his back on Teach. This child was his and hers, and that meant everything to him. He had already told her, that he could never not love something that was a part of her, and it was the truth. He did not look back to Teach, but he felt his eyes on the back of his neck as he got out of that god damn ship, away from Teach, toward the beach, rowing until he reached the moonlit shore. He was acting reckless, walking around here, the English all around him, but he did not give a fuck. He needed to be here, that's all he thought of as he walked away from the beach, to the tavern until he reached the second floor, cranking the door open, the familiar scent of parchment and ink and sea salt hitting his nostrils. He took two long strides until he was by the bed, where she was lying, her eyes fluttering open as she heard the creak of the floor boards.

"Charles," she mumbled sleepily with confusion in her voice. Yet she was not alerted by his presence and that brought his heart to his throat. This was so familiar to both of them, that not even after all this time, and after everything, did she feel alerted by his presence in her bedroom in the middle of the night.

"You really should lock your door, Eleanor," he said, but in his head thanked her for not doing so or else he'd be left outside. He sat down on her bed, the bed shifting under his weight as removed his boots, the scene giving him a queer feeling of having happened once before, and truth be told, it had most likely happened in many just like this for so many times over the years. Her hand came from behind to touch his elbow, her soft touch so gentle on his rough skin. Everything about that touch lit him on fire.

"What is it?" she whispered, sleep still heavy on her voice.

"Go back to bed," was all he said as he laid himself down on the bed, facing her. Their bodies were so close, her warm breath hit his face. He put his arm on her shoulder and turned her on her other side, so her back was against his front and he could bury his nose in her hair, and just take a deep breath, drawing in the scent of her. His hand found the curve of her belly. That was all he needed, to forget Teach's words, to reassure him that this was all he needed, her and the baby. How could he ask for more? He thought as he hugged her body as close to him as he could. He never wanted to let go. Never. Everything he needed was right here, safe and sound. He sighed, and with her familiar scent surrounding him, he fell to a restful sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: This chapter contains sexual content. You have been warned.**

 **Thanks for the people following the story and once again thanks for Lacontreras for the review! There isn't too much left in the fic. I can't really say tho, I have it mapped out it my mind but I don't really know how long it will take for me to reach where I need to be. But I will let you know in my notes when we are nearing the end :)  
Also sorry for the less frequent updating, I'm on vacation and my schedule is just not cooperating with my writing. Hopefully things will pick up, but I am not making any promises.**

His hand was roaming all over her body and the ache between her legs was becoming more and more intense, begging him to touch her there, right there where she needed his touch. His beard was stubbly against her cheek but she loved that feeling, there was something so purely manly about it, and it made her want to beg for him to take her now.

"I know you love it when I touch you like this," he rasped into her ear as his hand inched up her thigh closer and closer to where she wanted him.

"I'd love it more if you just fucked me already," she managed to mumble and she dug her fingers deep into the flesh in his back. He pushed his lips roughly against hers and cupped her core.

"Is that right?" he breathed as he started stroking his fingers against her wet folds. She moaned.

"I'm going to make you come so hard you won't even remember your own name," he promised and his fingers were replaced by something far more substantial in size. A small whimper escaped her lips as he slowly eased himself inside her. The weight of his body against her and the feel of him between her legs was possibly the best feeling she had ever had, and the pressure kept building there, promising her the sweetest release.

"Faster," she moaned against his hair, her nails digging into his triceps as she pursued her release. He laughed and brought his lips back on hers.

"You're sorely mistaken if you think I'm going to do as you wish, Eleanor." So the slow pace continue and the ache between her legs got almost unbearable, but amounting to nothing.

The haze of the dream was so heavy that when the sun hit her face, at first she did not realize it had all been a dream. Well, the ache between her legs was real, that was for sure, but his touch against her skin and his body pushing hers down on the bed had all been in her head. She didn't want to open her eyes and wake up to a reality where she was pregnant with their child but where the last touch they had shared was a hug while she had been crying her eyes out. So she kept her eyes closed, still not fully awake, and the feeling of the dream very much with her. It had been so long she had last woken up to a dream like this. She let out a low hum and contemplated on relieving the aching between her legs and let her hand travel down south. That was when she felt the bed shift under someone else's weight. She froze and opened her eyes.

"Don't stop on my account," Charles' sleepy voice mumbled, his eyes still half shut, but open enough to have seen where her hand was resting under the sheet. How could she have forgotten about last night? Now she of course remembered him walking into the room in the middle of the night, but somehow it had slipped from her mind. She rarely slept as well as she had slept last night and waking from that dream, she had still felt the satisfying effect of a night well slept. His presence had completely slipped her mind, it was not something she expected anymore, and yet it had been so familiar she had barely asked two questions before shutting her eyes again and fallen asleep in his embrace. Everything about him being there was conflicting, it was so familiar, the feel of his body on the bed next to her, just the feel in the room when he was in it. And yet it was foreign, unexpected and made her breathing labored, made her anxious.

"Charles, I forgot you were here," she mumbled, feeling slightly embarrassed. Well, it was nothing he hadn't seen before, and yet the flush of red was threatening to form on her cheeks, for only his presence in the bed next to her had caused her to have a vivid sexual dream and had left her aching to be touched, by him, but her own hand would have done as well.

"For someone who forgot I was here you sure were saying my name a lot," he smirked, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. Eleanor gasped in embarrassment. She suddenly felt like she was sixteen once more.

"I can't control my dreams, Charles!" she exclaimed. The small smile on his face widened as he turned to look at her.

"You didn't really say anything," he admitted. "But now I know why your hand is where it is." Eleanor groaned. She had walked right into that one, hadn't she? In her defense she was only waking up, and the shock of having a sex filled dreamed of the man and the finding him in her bed could be a bit disorienting. Now she was left with the feeling of embarrassment and still, the ache between her legs would not go away, in fact it was just made worse by his presence.

"I have needs, Charles," was all she managed to mumble, refusing to look him in the eye, trying to maintain some sort of dignity in this situation. This was the man she had loved and betrayed and who's child she was carrying, all while being on this odd in between state, where they were getting closer and closer, but the issues still between them remaining unresolved. But god, she wanted him. Just one look at his bare chest, the stubble on his face and the hair splayed out on his pillow was enough for her to want to finish exactly what they had been doing in the dream.

She expected a teasing answer, him making fun of her, but instead his voice was deep and steady.

"I know," was what he said, his eyes dark and Eleanor was sure she was not the only one harboring thoughts of the sexual nature. The temptation to just bring her hand against his cheek and press her lips against his was so strong. She knew it would most likely lead them to reenacting her dream, yet she could not do it. It just.. wasn't the right moment. When had she ever been concerned with the right moments? she asked herself, but she just could not bring herself to do it. She had sprung this situation on him, out of the blue, and he had put aside his feelings for her for the child, and she did not want to push him. He was there for the child, there was not going to be anything between them, she kept telling herself. He might feel the physical need for me, but how could he really want to be with me?

The insecurity roamed in her head as she thought of how happy she had been in that moment when she had thought just for a second that the dream had been true. She wanted him, on top of her, inside her, everywhere, but she also just wanted him. And not just for the child, but for her. Her chest seemed to burst with the feeling of longing as she thought of him. In such a short period of time she had gone from hating him, to battling herself not to touch him even if that was all she wanted to do. But had she truly hated him? No, not really, she had to admit. Well, yes she had had feelings of hatred toward him, but that feeling would have never been so intense without the lingering feelings of the opposite nature toward him. No matter what had happened between them, something just always lingered between them. Eleanor had never wanted to admit to it, she was the one that cast him aside, after all. But a nagging little voice at the back of her head always told her, that she was pushing him away because then she would not be the one being pushed away. She had never received the love she had wanted and needed, and when Charles had given just that to her, she could not trust it would last, so she pushed him away, betrayed him so often, always hoping he would come back to her. And he always did. Always.

And now, he was here with her, just being, and she was more afraid than she had ever been and just a short while ago, she had been in the middle of an ocean, carrying the child of a man she swore she hated all the while being on her way to her execution. Yet it was this moment that seemed to paralyze her with fear. The familiarity of the situation almost invited her to act as if nothing had happened between them, yet the fear of him now finally casting her aside, rejecting her, was the feeling lodged in her chest.

"What happened last night?" she asked him in a hushed tone, trying to bury her fear. He shifted his eyes to the ceiling and sighed.

"We must leave sooner than I anticipated. The journey will be harder, but we must go," he said, clearly leaving something out, and she battled if she should press him further or not. She decided she needed to know.

"What happened?" she repeated and finally he turned his eyes on her, his face still pressed against the goose feather pillow. He looked so beautiful.

"I chose you over Teach. Again," he grunted, his expression hard and unreadable. She tried to find her words but seemed to choke on them. _Chose her. Again_. Had he not done that always? Had he ever done anything that was not in her best interest? Tears almost forced their way to her eyes but she pushed them away. He could no longer love her, how could he? And yet he had chosen her. Chosen her when she never chose him. Eleanor nodded.

"So we must move more quickly," she murmured. He nodded his face still unreadable.

"Yes, Teach is not happy and he's unpredictable. He might not move against me, but he holds no love for you and I would not put it past him to tell the English who the real father of the child is," he stated matter of a factly, but it was as if she had seen fear flash in his eyes.

"I'll pack what is necessary," she assured him and almost reached to swipe away a stray strand of hair off his face.

"Good. We need to be ready." With that he was out of the bed and dressing himself. She lay there watching him get ready to leave her with an odd sense of certainty.

"I'll send word for you. Through Max. Trust no one else," he said and with that he was out of the door, leaving her there alone with her thoughts. His words kept playing in her mind. _I chose you over Teach. Again._ Perhaps it was time she started choosing him as well. And when Eleanor Guthrie decided something, she stuck with it. For good.


	10. Chapter 10

"Jack, you're sailing to Cuba, are you not?" Charles said, no hello, nothing. Well, it wasn't exactly unusual, but Jack would still have appreciated to be greeted like the good friend he was.

"Yes, we are going to need more powder," he admitted and watched the strained look on his friend's face. Something had clearly happened, but he knew Charles Vane all too well to know not to ask any questions.

"I need to get to Havana. _We_ need to get to Havana," he said, looking at Jack with that harsh stare he used on everyone. Except her of course. She was part of his _we_ after all.

"Well, I can't get you to Havana, but I can get you on the island." Charles did not seem angry or surprised at this, he must have thought it over before coming to talk to him, yet the strained look on his face did not disappear.

"That's good enough then. You'll have two extra passengers. And I trust your crew not to speak a word of this," he almost threatened, a flash of something Jack might have described as desperation flashing in his eyes had it been anyone else than Charles.

"I trust the men, but you know I can't guarantee that," he said, not going to lie to his friend, even if it did anger him. For a while they stood there, together, not saying a word. It felt like a goodbye, but neither was willing to acknowledge it.

"I told you not to fall in love with her again," Jack said, for some unfathomable reason. Charles' eyes on him were hard.

"I didn't," he said, and Jack was about to protest, but he turned his back on Jack to walk away and then said: "I always was."

* * *

Eleanor Guthrie had never been one for fancy clothing or impressive jewelry, or well, things in general. She never saw the point; they were just things after all. And yet now that she had to make decisions, what to take with her and what to leave behind her, for good, she found herself struggling. She was practical, so she packed undergarments, a good dress for working and walking, all things she expected she needed to do while travelling. But a good proper fancy dress might as well come in handy. She looked at the garments before her and sighed at the realizations that only the ivory colored dress would fit her ever growing belly during their travel. This was a move of necessity, and yet it was the most inconvenient time to travel. Well, perhaps it would have been even more inconvenient to travel with a child, for what did she even know of children? She could feel the panic rising in her mind, but was interrupted before it grew out of proportion by a sharp knock on the door.

"Yes?" she called and Max entered.

"I see you are packing," she noted and for a while they just looked at each other, both unsure what to say to each other. What were you supposed to say to your former lover who had suffered greatly because of you and had now come to usurp your place? You made small talk, seemed to be the answer.

"Yes, and having a hard time deciding on what I need with me," she said finally. Max nodded and then offered a small pouch to her.

"Here, take these, some herbs for nausea and pain and such. Just in case," she said and handed it to her. The gesture touched Eleanor, she was not going to lie. Max had been thinking of her, and it did mean a lot to her.

"Thank you, that was very nice of you," Eleanor said and laid it on her bag. That awkward silence fell over them once more.

"Eleanor, we might not be on the best of terms and a lot has happened between us," Max started, breaking the silence. "But I want you to know that I wish you the best. You and the child. And Charles. I hope you find happiness in life, I truly do. I hope you will be able to accept it. He's a good man, Eleanor." Eleanor was a bit taken aback by her words, their relationship had been so strained for so long, that hearing all this seemed to come out of the blue.

"Thank you, Max. I really appreciate it. I want all that to you as well."

"Don't throw all this away," Max said and turned to leave, but Eleanor's voice made her pause.

"I am awfully sorry, Max. About everything." Max nodded, her back still turned to her said: "Tomorrow at first light. But be there well before it is light outside." With those words, her back turned on Eleanor she left the room.

That was the last time they ever saw each other. A part of both of them knew that, and perhaps there would have been a lot more to say, but in the end, there really wasn't. This was the point where their paths took a different direction and it was unnerving to Eleanor. Max was a part of this island to her, and seeing her go was also like letting go of a small piece of this place. She sighed and sat down on the bed, staring out of the open window. The sound of the people walking outside, the ocean, the smells of the town, everything she saw right in that moment would be gone in mere hours. It sent shivers down her body and it was most likely the warmest day of the year. She might have described leaving as ending a chapter in her life, but she had lived in this place for her whole life, and had rarely ventured outside of it. It was more like a whole new book that a new chapter, and it frightened her. This had been her home for so long that it made her feel empty to see it go.

Then she saw a small silver necklace peak out under the clothes laid out on the bed. She reached for it and looked at it against her palm. It was a locket; a locket Charles had given her on her seventeenth birthday. A locket he had stolen, but she did not care, not then and not now. He had thought of her then, he had gone against her wishes of no one paying any attention to the fact it was her birthday. And it had made her so happy. He had made her so happy. In that moment, the child in her belly kicked. It felt like a sign, and she was not one to believe in signs. Perhaps she was not losing her home, for the best part of it was coming with her, he was coming with her. And then there was the baby. Already now it felt like such a huge part of her world, and it hadn't even been born yet. She chuckled and the baby kicked again. Perhaps she was taking her home with her.

* * *

Charles Vane didn't really own anything. He had clothes that were practical for his profession. He had money, but that was about it. What more could he need? He did not need a trunk for his things, he just packed a bag of his clothing and few chosen items. Practical things. Charles was not a sentimental person, that was not in his nature, but he did wish he could take a piece of this place with him. He had been here for so long and this was the only place where he had truly been happy, so he hoped he could somehow pack that happiness in his pack. True, he had had some terrible times here as well, but the good seemed to outweigh the bad. All those good memories... with her. He grunted as he was forced to admit to himself once again, that the happiness of this place had so much to do with her. And the terrible times as well. Of course, had he never set eyes on the woman, he would have been happy in his life as a free man, and yet, the burning feeling when she was around was something her would have missed. Perhaps he could not pack this place with him, or pack the happiness, but they were leaving together. And by doing so, he was already taking a huge part of the island with her. This island was nothing without her. And neither was he. _Fucking hell_.

* * *

Like so many times before, in fact countless times before, they met on the beach of Nassau, where the water met the sand, in the darkness of the night. He was already there, standing so close to the sea that the water surely hit his boots. He was not looking at her, but the sea, so still and looking so tranquil. Eleanor stopped, leaving distance between them so she could look at him and remember all the times when this exact same situation had taken place. The first few times had happened years ago, yet it still seemed to her like it had happened yesterday. They had been younger for sure, he had perhaps not looked so hard, and there had been fewer lines on his face, and yet it felt exactly the same to her. The feeling in the pit of her stomach every time she had seen him standing there, waiting for her, that was always the same, the years could not change it. The years could not touch the way she had always felt about Charles Vane. It always hit her so hard it felt like the waves were crashing over her, pulling her underwater until she couldn't breathe.

He then turned his eyes on her, and for a while the hardness on his face seemed to disappear as a small smile spread on his lips. At the same time, they both took a step toward the other. Years ago they would have walked as far as it took for them to reach each other and then they would be wrapped in each other's embrace, their lips locked in a hungry kiss. Oh, she felt that hunger now, it burned her from the inside, and yet they stopped at a respectable distance. Both hesitating to come any closer.

"I see you packed light," he said approvingly, nodding toward her bag that she carried on her shoulder.

"I don't have that many things, you know," she replied and he nodded in agreement. He knew her better than anyone, perhaps even better than she knew herself.

"Right. We must go then," he said and gestured at the small boat, waiting for them to hop on and bring them to the ship. She followed his lead and as he hopped on and extended his hand to help her abroad, she took it and marveled at the feeling that just holding his hand could cause in her. So they sat on the boat, side by side, until they reached Rackham's ship. Boarding it was not very easy while pregnant, but she made it all the same.

Once abroad, she turned to look at the island, at Nassau, her home. She could feel Charles next to her, but she did not turn to look at him. The island was waking up, the first rays of light illuminating it. It was still quiet and so peaceful. She felt the ship under her move. This was her last look of her home, that was the only thought in her head and she felt at a loss of words. She had no words to describe the feeling of looking at the place she had called home for so long for the very last time. She must have been gripping the railing harder than she thought, as when Charles hand came to cover hers she loosened her fingers and let him lace his fingers with hers. Only then did she look away from her home, to look at the man that had been her home for so long. The same emotions were written all over his face as well and there was no need for words. Like so much in this life, they shared this as well. And that was all they needed.


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: Thanks for the reviews guys, I love hearing what you thought :) Sorry it took me this long to update, but here you go! I really hope you'll like it.**

Eleanor really was not one for sea travel. It had been evident the time she crossed the Atlantic twice and it was evident now as she hung over the railing, parting with her breakfast. Charles had been nowhere to be seen since the beginning of their trip, and she did not mind one bit, as she preferred no one having to witness her on a moment of weakness. Just as she combed the hair back on its place with her fingers, Charles came to her, with a reluctant looking Jack Rackham and a forever angry looking Anne Bonny in his tow. Charles' face was unreadable as it often was, but she was alarmed by the fact that he gripped her arm by her elbow, bringing her body quite close to his.

"We need to get married," he said without further ado. Just out of the blue, like he was telling her what the weather was like, or what he had eaten for breakfast. Just like that. For a moment Eleanor just stared at him and then laughed, for surely he was joking, that was the only explanation. However, there was not a trace of amusement on his face and his eyebrows knitted together. He stared at her until she stopped laughing. He said nothing else, nothing to explain this thing he had just told her out of the blue, so she was forced to open her mouth to question him.

"Have you lost your wits?" she asked, with a hint of that laughter still evident in her voice. He shook his head in a determined manner.

"If we wish to travel to the continent in the ordinary manner, we can't be travelling like this, an unmarried pregnant woman travelling with an unmarried man who happens to be unrelated to her. You know this." Now it was her turn to stare him down. He had done this now? With no warning and just expected her to go along with it. She felt anger rising inside her, and yet she knew he was right. And god be damned if she didn't hate it when he was right and she was wrong.

"Well, why not pretend we are related then," she countered with her chin lifted up in defiance, but saying it more out of stubbornness than for actually thinking it was a sound idea. Now it was his turn to laugh. She couldn't stop thinking about how his hand was still on her elbow and how his other arm was lingering so close to her hips. _Stop thinking about that, Eleanor,_ she cursed herself, but the closeness to his body was always something that affected her, she could not help it. She got so distracted by his touch for a moment, that she almost forgot what they were arguing about until he countered her suggestion.

"Do you think we can act worth shit?" he said and turned to look at his friends for affirmation.

"Yes, I believe Charles is right, and as he so eloquently put it, you two can't act worth shit. You two posing as relatives would most likely end up being more scandalous than an unmarried pregnant woman traveling alone with a single man," Jack concluded with an uncomfortable look on his face. Eleanor looked from Jack to Charles, and decided that Charles had not in fact lost his wits. She sighed with resignation. She hated being wrong, even if the wrongness of her opinion was caused by his sudden insistence that she marry him. But this was not just about her, it was about their safe passage to Louisiana. So she just had to accept it, for once in her life.

"Didn't ever really think I would see this day," she murmured, unsure what on earth she was feeling in that moment.

"Neither did I," he said with ease, but his tone was uneven.

"Very well then, when shall this marriage take place, then?" she tried to sound focused on the facts, but really what she wanted to do was just chant 'I am marrying Charles Vane' over and over again. It seemed unbelievable, it couldn't be really happening, could it?

"Now," was what he said in reply. "Jack's the Captain of the ship, he will marry us," Charles stated. Eleanor turned to look at Jack, the reluctant face he had been making made a lot more sense now. Eleanor opened her mouth to say something, perhaps protest, but nothing came out. Then she took a deep breath to compose herself.

"Very well then. If you care to wait for a while, I'd like to get married dressed looking less like a peasant," she said and motioned to her modest dress. In reality she just needed five minutes alone to make sure she was not dreaming. Charles nodded and let go of her arm and she fled to the captain's cabin where Charles and she had left their bags. As the door was shut behind her, she pressed her back against it and let her body slide against it on floor.

"I'm marrying Charles Vane," she whispered and pinched her arm. It hurt. She was most definitely not dreaming this. Here she was, getting married to the only man she ever loved, when he held no feelings toward her. The fact that this was a marriage of convenience should not have weighed so heavily on her mind, but she could not help it. She had never dreamed of getting married to him, that just wasn't in the cards for them, so there was no point in dreaming about things that would never come to be. And yet here she was now, about to get married to him, the man she stilled loved so much it hurt her, when all he must feel toward her was the duty of taking care of her and the child. A few tears slipped to her cheek, but she dried them quickly and got up. Eleanor Guthrie was not going to wallow in self-pity when she had things to do. Namely getting married.

So she changed into her ivory colored dress and made her way back on the deck where Jack was already standing, near the railing, Charles standing his left side to Jack, his right side and face facing her. On the right hand side Anne and a few men, she did not recognize stood watching her enter. She could feel her whole body tremble. Swallowing, she took the first step toward him, keeping her eyes fixed on his face. He looked as handsome as ever, just like she loved him to look, scruffy and manly with the beard on his cheeks and the hair long and free. He looked exactly like the man she had fallen in love with when she was only sixteen years old. He was older as was she, but he was the same man.

Tears threatened to escape her eyes as she looked at him. He was still there for her, like he had always been. But she pushed the tears aside and in that moment she couldn't help but smile and when she smiled, he smiled as well, and in that moment she forgot all about the fact that this was a marriage of convenience and pretended she was just getting married to the man she loved, and it was a glorious feeling. She felt so happy her chest ached because it couldn't contain all the feelings inside it. Just in a few steps, she was standing next to him, facing him and clasping his hands in hers. They stared at each other, for what seemed like an eternity before Jack cleared his throat and started.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to bear witness to joining this man and this woman in holy matrimony. I shall keep this brief. Do you Charles Vane, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?" Charles' eyes did not leave hers and the slight tightening of his hands around hers was something she would remember forever.

"I do," he rasped. Her heart must have skipped a beat just then.

"And do you Eleanor Guthrie, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?" Jack asked.

"I do," she answered, her voice clear and true. She had never meant anything so much in her life. She wanted him, even if just for this day, to be her husband.

"You may exchange the rings now," Jack said, causing Eleanor to panic for a moment, surely there were no rings. There couldn't be, how could there when she had just learned this marriage would be happening ten minutes ago. But somehow Charles reached into the pocket of his breeches and pulled two golden bands out. He took the smaller one in his right hand and slid it into her left ring finger. Her hand suddenly felt heavy under the weight. She took the larger ring from him and mimicked his actions. He then took hold of both her hands, their hands now joined, both wearing matching tokens of commitment.

"I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride," Jack finally declared. There was no hesitation from Charles, it was as if he had been expecting this, for right in that moment when Jack told him to kiss his bride, his lips were on her, the hunger so apparent in them her knees felt so weak they might have buckled under her had he not been holding her by the waist then, pressing her against his firm chest. She had not felt those lips in so long and it felt like a homecoming, it truly did, but it also felt like this was the first time. Exciting and new, yet so familiar, and that hunger, that burning, always there. Always.

All too soon, he pulled away from her, her lips immediately longing for his mouth against hers. It felt like a cruel jest to have him kiss her and not let things go further. Her whole body ached for him to touch her, everywhere, and not just with his lips. The distance he had put between them was not much, and his hand was still around her waist. Both their breathing seemed labored as they just gazed into each other's eyes. Of course Jack had to clear his throat then.

"Well then, it is done. You have each other forever now," he said and with that he fled the place, leaving Charles and Eleanor alone in the intimate silence that was lingering between them.

"Forever then," he said with a contemplative tone. Those words almost made her burst with happiness, but she could not forget that voice in her head that told her he did not love her anymore, did not want her anymore.

"So it would seem," she said with the smallest voice, but managed to force a smile on her lips. To have him forever, that was all she wanted. She wanted it almost more than she wanted this child. A part of her did want it more than this child. For all intents and purposes he was now hers, and yet he wasn't. Now she once again got to feel like she was being pulled under the water, drowning her. It was because of him she was drowning, and yet he was the only thing that could save her from doing so. So she looked into the eyes of her husband and screamed inside her head to save her, to love her, to save her by just loving her.

He then brought his hand to brush her hair behind her ear, like he had always done. and said. "Come on then, wife," and all those dreadful thoughts of drowning seemed liked a distant memory. She was married to Charles Vane. Nothing could ruin this day, not even herself.

* * *

 _God..._ that was the only word in his mind, it was a prayer, repeating in his head over and over again. And Charles Vane was not a religious man, not by any means, but he couldn't help but to worship at her altar, always. And when their lips had finally met each other again after such a long time of separation, he couldn't help but to pray a little. Pray that the moment would last, pray that she would always be by his side, that she would never turn her back on him, that she would never betray him again. That she would just love him.

But as their lips were separated once more, he looked at his wife for the first time with the fear of god within in him. Not god, exactly, but if there was any sort of higher power in this life, he felt afraid of it now. For now, he had her, she was his and he was hers, for the rest of their lives. Or at least that was what he had promised to her, a promise he would keep, but when he looked at her, all he could see was uncertainty. And Eleanor Guthrie was never uncertain, she knew what she wanted and she wasn't afraid to get it. But this woman standing before him seemed unsure, the unsureness only disappearing when he had pulled her body as close to his as he could get her and pressed his lips on hers.

That kiss had held everything he wanted in life. Her touch, her attention, _her love_. But could she ever love him, or had she even ever loved him? Those questions troubled Charles more than he cared to admit, and the words of Jack, Anne, Teach and everyone who knew him were running through his head, telling him she would never love him like he had loved her. But most of all, it was his own feverish dream of her that told him that. She could never be less than, that's what she had told him in the dream, and he had always known that to be true. Now she was his wife. Even if she still held some feelings of affection toward him, could she now ever feel like his equal. To him, she was never his lesser. Never. To him she was his life. The end and the beginning of it. And that god be damned if it once more ripped his life from him.


	12. Chapter 12

**AN: Thank you so much for the reviews!**

She could see the coast, even if it was early morning and still dark. Everything around her was quiet until the boat was dropped into the water, making a huge splash, sending ripples to the shore. She followed after him, to the side of the ship to make the uncomfortable climb down the side of it. Her ever growing belly was something she would not miss after it finally went away.

The climb had wakened the child inside her and it was furiously kicking her insides, like it was also fed up with being trapped inside her belly. As she sat down on the boat, facing Charles who was holding the oars, she put her hand on her belly and hummed. It always seemed to sooth the child and the kicking stopped, making her smile. It was simply wondrous, to be able to put her child to bed even before it had even been born.

When she finally looked up and met his eyes, he was looking at her like she was something alien.

"What is it?" she questioned and let her hand slip away from her belly. His eyes shifted a bit, as if he wanted to look away from her, but he forced himself to keep looking at her.

"Nothing," was his only reply and so he rowed them to the shore, with the sun starting to rise, illuminating the sky and the sea. It was truly beautiful. A beautiful day to start their journey to their new life.

Charles hopped out of the boat, the water splashing around him and dragged the boat to the sand, then holding out his hand, which she took with a smirk on her lips.

"You were never this chivalrous before," she pondered as her feet were now on more stable ground.

"You weren't carrying my child then," he said and her smile disappeared. Of course, it was the child. She had let herself forget it so easily now that her hand was weighed heavily by the golden band in her left hand. It was so easy to forget. Too easy.

"Let's get walking," Charles rasped, breaking the silence, but just for a while. He headed down the beach, his back to her and she was just forced to follow. In silence, with the blazing sun burning her back and making her sweat like a pig.

* * *

What seemed like several hours had passed. She was not particular talented in telling the time from the sky, but she knew it had been a long while. Her empty stomach and her dry mouth were testament to that as well. She was so hungry and uncomfortable and in the middle of nowhere, pregnant, with no end in sight to the walking.

The anger inside her had been brewing as they walked in silence, the wedding band seemingly burning her skin. Every nasty thought she had ever thought of Charles came bubbling to the surface. rationally she knew it was the exhaustion and hunger talking, but it made no different. Another hour passed before she finally broke the silence and let out her anger.

"So was this your plan all along?" she accused. It wasn't the words, but the tone of her voice that made him stop and turn to look at her.

"What are you talking about?" The blank look on his face made her blood boil.

"What am I talking about, he asks! This was your plan to get back to me, was it not? For betraying you?" Sweat was dripping down her temple and she tried to wipe if off, making no difference at all to her appearance. Charles narrowed his eyes and took a step closer to her, which caused her to take one back.

"I asked, what are you talking about, woman?" There was a hint of anger in his voice, she could hear it loud and clear. But oh, she was angry too. So very angry, and insecure.

"That this was your plan all along, to make me believe you cared about me and the child, that you wanted to take care of us, to abandon your lifestyle for us. You planned it, to make me believe all that, to marry me and then abandon me here alone on some bloody inhabited island! You're going to finally get your revenge! I knew you haven't forgotten, but god I wanted to believe you had! Go on then! Leave me here to die," she shouted at him. This sort of communication was not foreign to them, but the feeling of resignation was. She had just spat out all her hidden thoughts and insecurities at his face.

"Fuck you, Eleanor," he said, but made no indication of moving anywhere. She just stared at him, waiting for him to answer her accusations. His stance seemed to make him bigger, the anger bubbling under the surface making him look almost threatening. He grimaced and continued:

"Fuck you. Fuck you! Nothing is ever good enough for you is it, you ungrateful spoiled little brat. I give you fucking everything I got, everything. My livelihood, my identity and just... myself. I've put aside everything, everything! Despite what you did to me, despite the fact that you left me to that fort to die for all you knew. You left me in favor of men who have never loved you! You left the person who truly has. For fucks sake, Eleanor! You left me! You abandoned me when I needed you the most. You always have. And yet I still can't stop loving you. I fucking can't stop loving you!" He shouted the last words so loud that birds took flight to get away from him. Eleanor was unable to react; she was unable to do anything but look at the man who was shouting at her.

"All I've ever done is love you, you bitch. I've needed nothing else, and yet I've never been enough for you. Never. You always pushed me aside. And yet I still come running back like a dog when you call. It makes me sick. But I can't stop, and I won't stop, because you have been my life, you are my life. There is no me without you. I am not Charles Vane if I don't love Eleanor Guthrie, I've fucking found that out the hardest way for far too many times. And here you stand, after all this shit, accusing of me on turning on you. Accusing me of vengeance. Just fuck you, Eleanor. Fuck you."

With that he was clearly done with his shouting and Eleanor found that in the midst of all the sweat, there were also tears. He loved her. He loved her. The quiet tears turned into full blown sobs when the reality of his words hit home. She let her knees hit the sand. She couldn't keep standing after that, her legs refused to keep her upright. _He loves me, he loves me, he loves me,_ was the mantra that kept repeating in her head. And then came the shame and regret. His face was fixed in a grimace that screamed to her how hurt he felt. It made her cry even harder.

"I'm so sorry Charles. I'm so sorry," she sobbed, trying to regain control of herself, but the tears would not stop coming. "I should have known you'd always be the better one of us. I so often forget that you are nothing like me and forget you would never do to me as I have done to you. I just don't deserve this. You. I don't deserve you being here after everything. I can't believe you are here; after what I did to you. I am sorry," she said, trying to breathe more easily until she continued. "How could you love me, how could you, after all this? The only logical explanation for all this was revenge. I wanted to enjoy it while it lasted, before you would finally tighten the noose around my neck. I wanted to pretend that you did love me, that all of it was real, that you really did leave your life behind for me, that you married me because you loved me. But I just couldn't fully believe it, you know. Because there is always this voice in the back of my mind telling me that you could never love me after all I've done. I'm sorry," she finally said. Not knowing what to do now, she looked at him. His face seemed so still and unmoving, like he hadn't heard of her, but she knew he had. His voice came out uneven when he finally spoke.

"The thing is, Eleanor, I tried to stop loving you. I tried to stop so many times, but it just wouldn't be stomped down, nothing I did really worked. I might have been able to hold up the façade of not loving you and I certainly would not have come to you. I'm a proud man, Eleanor, you know that better than anyone. I would not have crawled back to your bed, but that didn't mean I didn't love you, even when the English took you. My heart was fucking bleeding when I thought you were going to die. But I was willing to welcome your death. Maybe then I'd finally be rid of you, and all those damn feelings you've made me feel since we were young. And then you came back, with your belly round with the child growing inside it and everything was wiped clean. A child, of you and me. You and I finally created something instead of destroying. And that is worth putting past all your betrayal, putting away my pride and admitting that you are my life. That I can't fucking live without you. Even if that means I have to live with the knowledge that you will never love me like I love you." Her sobs stopped just then. He had laid it all out, all his feelings. And he thought she didn't love him as much as he loved her. It broke her heart a bit.

"I never stopped loving you, you know?" she started, "With every passing year I loved you more and more and seeing you but not being with you was fucking agony. All I wanted was you. But there's just something in me that fears showing weakness. And I sacrificed you to it, time after time. I pushed you away so often for the sake that I loved you. I loved you so much, and everything I've loved has always left me. So I tried to make you leave, but you never did. After the last time, I was sure I had finally pushed far enough, but you still came back to me. And I just couldn't comprehend the fact that someone I loved wouldn't leave me. I still can't really grasp it, even after you've said all that. But I do love you more than I thought was capable. So please, Charles. Please don't think I don't hold the same love for you as you do for me." She sighed deeply when she was done. Now everything was said, everything she could think of, and she felt both light and heavy after all of it.

"You are the most infuriating person I have ever met," he finally answered, his voice still rough from all the shouting. His words however brought a slight smile on her lips.

"I could say the same thing about you," she countered and he gave her that long look, this long look that was so familiar to her, yet one she hadn't seen in a long while.

"You've put me through hell, Eleanor," he said. His words were threatening, but that look would not leave his face. She swallowed audibly, and her whole body seemed to be lit up by just that look. He took a few steps forward, until he reached her and pulled her up from the sand, to stand face to face with him.

"You dragged me into the abyss with you and you never loosened your grip on me, you never let go of me," he rasped, his fingers firmly curling around her arm. "And I never resisted. I jumped in there with you. And now I'll never leave," he said, and reminded her of what that look on his face meant.

His hands were all over her body, his lips rough against hers. Her body matched his ferocity and she started clawing at the front of his shirt, to get it off, to see his bare flesh in front of her eyes once again. She craved to touch him, and to have him all over her. His hands unlaced her bodice with such precision, and the practiced manner made her burn and her core clench in anticipation. Her breasts were met with the hot air briefly, and then covered by his hands.

"Fuck," was all he mumbled when he felt the unfamiliarly heavy weight of them. She smirked and ripped the bodice even lower. "On your knees," he rasped and his jaw clenched slightly at the sight of her doing so. The heat between her legs was growing unbearable and with those words, it was throbbing with lust. Her whole body was, and she did just as he ordered and started undoing his breeches. But he pushed her by her shoulder and she lost her balance, finding herself on her back in the sand, her chest exposed. The shirt she had tried to claw off him was still on, but now he graciously pulled it off.

"Can you just fuck me already," she mumbled and ground her hips to create friction between her legs.

"Maybe I won't," he said just to annoy her, and she knew it, but it didn't stop her groaning.

"I fucking hate you, Charles Vane, you better fuck me right fucking now," she said with her best commanding tone of voice.

"I hate you too," he said and stepped off his breeches and was finally standing in front of her in all his glory. He was just as she remembered, all hard muscles, tanned skin, scars, and that erection that never failed to get her full attention.

One moment she was just appreciating his magnificent body, and the second he was on top her, pulling up her skirts in a haste, with such accuracy, his fingers found their way to the spot where she needed them. He circled around her entrance and finally pushed his fingers inside her, his thumb left rubbing the spot that brought her most pleasure. For a while it was all she needed, but before long she made an unsatisfied grunt. His fingers were not what she wanted, and he read her body like a map, he knew exactly what she was missing, but he naturally decided to torture her some more.

"For fuck's sake Charles!" she shouted and he laughed that deep laugh of his. With that final bit of teasing, he finally brought himself to her entrance, and with one swift thrust pushed inside her. She yelped with the sudden invasion, but the yelp turned into a deep sigh of pleasure.

Their position was slightly awkward due to the child in her belly, but god did he manage just fine. Just the weight of him on top of her might have been enough to bring her to orgasm, but his fast, angry thrusts and his teeth against her throat were definitely speeding up the process.

Then he lifted his upper body in the midst of his hard thrusts and looked into her eyes.

"I'm so fucking mad at you, Eleanor. Fucking thinking I was going to desert you in here. Bitch," he groaned, his thrusts getting more and more erratic.

"Just shut the fuck up and fuck me," she replied and deliberately clenched her walls around him to make him groan. In retaliation he shifted his position and hit that one sweet spot inside her that made her eyes roll to the back of her skull for a second.

"Don't you dare stop," she murmured, meeting his thrusts as the feeling between her legs was spreading.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he replied and brought his finger to her clitoris to help her over the edge. It took just two strokes for him to get a desirable result. The orgasm was like a wave crashing over her, she was so engulfed in it, that she lost the sense of her own body for a while. Her walls were cramping around him and just like so many times before, he followed close after her.

"Shit," he cursed and slowed his movement as he came inside her. Slowly, the movement came to a halt and he rolled off her. They were both laying on their backs on the hot sand, staring at the cloudless sky. He wrapped his arm around her and brought her to partially lie on his chest while he absentmindedly kept kissing and nibbling her throat.

"You got my ass full of sand," she stated and he laughed against her throat.

"Didn't hear you complaining when it was getting there."

"Fuck you, Charles," she said with a smile on her face, and allowed herself just to enjoy the moment for as much as it was possible to enjoy lying in the hot beach, and sand getting to every uncomfortable place possible. Finally, she had enough.

"That's it, I'm going for a swim," she said and untangled herself from Charles and the skirts still around her waist.

The sea water was cool and calming and the emptiness of the ocean made her feel at peace. She could feel his presence near her before she even heard him approach. He stopped just one step behind her, so they were both waist deep in the water. The slight waves were moving their bodies back and forth ever so slightly. In that moment it was once again just the two of them and the ocean. So often they had stood like this in the ocean, right next to each other, the presence of the other being all they needed from that moment.

In that moment, however, it wasn't just the two of them. The third person reminded Eleanor of its presence by a kick. She turned to look as Charles, the man she had created this life with, and took his hand while smiling at him. Without a word she pressed his hand against her belly, just where she felt the little rascal kicking. For a moment nothing happened, and then, he felt it. He lifted his eyes up from her belly and gave her the most magnificent look of bewilderment. Then he looked back down and felt the child kick even more. Then he knelt down, the water now reaching his chest, and placed a soft kiss on her belly.

"Hello," was what he whispered at the belly.

Right in that moment, it all became clearer to him. He was going to be a father. and this was his child, kicking, just being alive and real. _Fucking hell._

Years into the future, Charles Vane was telling his child about this very moment. The moment he put away his old life and met his child. That story would be told with a smile on his face, but with a glazed look, for he would always manage to escape to that moment in the past, the first moment when he had truly accepted that his life would never be the same again.


	13. Chapter 13

**AN: Thanks to Charming guest for all the comments! Seeing you leave not one but 12 comments really made me want to finish this chapter, so thank you!**

"So what are we going to call ourselves?" she asked him, just two miles away from the city. She was walking ahead of him, turning her head ever so slightly to look back at him to ask her question. Her backside was still sandy from their tumble at the beach and he couldn't help but smile at the thought of it. It was very Eleanor and Charles, the whole thing. Shouting and being angry and then having sex. He had to admit it had been a bit different this time, as she had apologized to him. Sincerely. That was something entirely new. And for once, they had actually solved something with their shouting, laid out all their feelings and it had worked. A thought popped into Charles' head, that what if they would have just done this from the beginning, from the day they met, would things have been different? He however discarded the thought as soon as it had formed. It could have never been. This leap forward was completely due to the fact that they had both left their positions behind on Nassau and were just the two of them in the middle of nowhere. They had had to practically abandon themselves on Nassau, in a way. He was no longer a pirate, and she no longer the person overseeing it all. Only that had allowed them to open up as they had. And all that was due to the child. Eleanor's ever growing belly had really turned everything upside down. Sometimes he wondered if they'd ever had a shot of being together without the child. And he was grateful for it, he was. Especially now as he thought of the kick he had felt under his hand, coming from somewhere deep in her womb. It was simply miraculous.

Eleanor repeated her question and brought him back to the moment.

"What are you on about?" he asked, which caused her to roll her eyes. Which of course caused him to grin wickedly. There were few things in life that he enjoyed more than seeing Eleanor Guthrie roll her eyes in aggravation to something he had said.

"Obviously we cannot go parading around the colonies as Charles Vane and Eleanor Guthrie. You are a wanted pirate for heaven's sake, and I'd imagine they won't just forget I made a run for it the first chance I got," she explained. She did have a point.

"I suppose you are right. I think we need to keep our first names, however. A too big of a chance I'd call you Eleanor in front of someone who knows you as someone else." She nodded in agreement with his logic.

"Yes, we can still remain Charles and Eleanor, they aren't exactly uncommon names, so I doubt anyone would be suspicious if we introduced ourselves with Charles and Eleanor something-or-other. What do you think, what should our family name be?" He could see on her face the slight hesitation. She was going to have to part with her name she had had since birth. It had been full of prestige and power. So was the name Vane, but he hadn't grown up with it like Eleanor had. He had made himself the name of Vane, and he was willing to make a new name full of that same power and influence both their names had. Together.

* * *

She was uncomfortable, sweaty, her feet were full of blisters and her hair was full of sand. And yet, this felt like one of the best days of her life. When the sweet sight of habitation was just steps away, she felt like crying. Alas, she had done enough crying for one day. His presence right next to her was so steady and reassuring. Anything that would come next, they would face together. Instinctively she fiddled with the golden band on her left hand. Charles and Eleanor were married now, and the new people they would encounter, would think nothing of it. No one would raise an eyebrow when they heard they were married. It was an odd thought. In the life she had left behind, that would not have been an option, people would have stared and judged. Like a lightning through her brain, she thought what her father would have said had he been alive to witness her marrying Charles Vane. But it didn't matter now, he was dead and she was with Charles, forever. His hand on her waist guided her deeper into the town, a promise of comfort to come. Eleanor had rarely felt blessed, but now she truly did feel so.

* * *

This time of day in the Inn was not very busy. Mr. Tanner was sitting by the desk, secretly reading his newest collection of poems, hoping his wife, Mrs. Tanner, would not catch him doing so. It was very unprofessional; she would always say. When the peaceful lull of the afternoon was interrupted by two people, his nose was still buried in the book. In fact, he did not hear them coming at all, which was definitely a first.

"Any rooms available?" a rough voice called, nearly giving him a heart attack. The book fell from his hands onto the floor. Over the counter, there was a young couple. The man who had spoken looked as he sounded, rough, hard, and one who would not take a no for an answer. Next to him was a beautiful fair woman, who was also very pregnant, and also very dirty. The look on her face was something of a mixture between discomfort and relief.

"Umm, yes we have rooms available," Mr. Tanner stuttered. Before he could say anything else the man slammed down coin on his desk. Too much for just a night at the Inn. The man could see Mr. Tanner's baffled look.

"We need a hot bath and meals; we're staying for three nights." The woman turned to look at him.

"Three days?" she asked, her voice clear and sophisticated. It did not match her scruffy outside one bit.

"Yes, Eleanor, three days," he rasped. Her eyes were hard, but she said nothing. Mr. Tanner however was quite familiar with the look of women having a lot to say.

"You will be in room number 11, the bath will be drawn as soon as possible, Mr...?"

"Morgan," he said and grabbed the key.

"Very well, Mr. and Mrs. Morgan. Dinner will be served at six." Mr. Morgan grunted as a reply and steered his pregnant wife upstairs.

"Three days is too long," he could hear Mrs. Morgan mumble to her husband.

"We don't have a choice," Mr. Morgan answered with sternness. His wife looked at him with hard eyes but seemed to accept his answer. It seemed like the Tanner Inn was in for an interesting three days.

* * *

"We have to cut your hair," Eleanor said from the tub, which had been carried into the middle of their room. Charles was sitting on the bed, watching her bathe. Thinking of his hair was the only distraction she could think of that would stop her from getting up from the tub and having very wild sex with him.

Charles had been leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, but upon hearing her words, he straightened his body.

"I'm sorry, but it screams pirate. You know I hate this as much as you do, but we don't have any options. It's bad enough that we have to spend three days here, but with you walking around with hair like that, acting like you act... someone is going to figure it out sooner or later," she said and tried to soap off some dirt on her feet.

"I hate it when you're right," he said and left the room, returning with scissors. She got out of the bath and dried up. His eyes lingered on her naked body.

"Focus, Charles. Take a bath and I'll cut it after it's clean." He undressed and got into the bath, and started to open up the braids in his hair. It felt like something was ripped away from her. She loved those braids, and his long hair, everything about it, really. It seemed like the final goodbye to Nassau.

An hour after the bath, his hair was sufficiently dry to be cut, and she was standing behind him while he sat on the single chair in the room and took a deep sigh.

"Not too short," he murmured. She could hear the sadness in his voice and she felt it as well. But there was nothing to be done. So she brought the scissors to the hair and cut. The locks fell to her feet and the damn tears that had been haunting her ever since that child had started growing inside her threatened to spill over. She kept cutting, until it was sufficiently short. She then combed it back and fastened what was left of it with a black tie.

In the looking glass, it was still Charles, who stared at his own image, but it looked nothing like him.

"I look like a fucking dandy prat," he spat at the image. And suddenly she couldn't hold back a laugh. It just erupted out of nowhere, and suddenly she was laughing so hard she could barely breathe.

"Shut up, Eleanor," he rasped and got out of the chair so he didn't have to keep looking at his new hairdo.

"It's just... Charles... You look like an English officer and I can't stop laughing at the irony," she said, barely getting the words out of her mouth with all the laughing.

"You're a wicked woman, you know that?" he said and pulled the tie off his hair, letting the hair once again rest where it should. He still looked amazing, she had to admit.

"Perhaps you'd also like a little haircut?" he said and grabbed the scissors out of her hand and was suddenly approaching her with them.

"No! Charles, stop it! You fucking stop it if you appreciate being alive!" she practically screamed, but he did not stop approaching. She tried to escape to the door, where he just put an arm around her waist and led her to the bed where he pinned down.

"You fucking asshole, I will divorce you, you fucking prick, just watch me! I'll tell everyone you can't get it up in bed, I'll ruin your reputation," she spewed at him but he did not stop brining the scissors closer and closer to her hair, her glorious blonde hair. She heard the scissors cut through it, and she closed her eyes, too terrified to see what he had done, instead she just insulted him in every possible way she could think of. And she had been raised in the midst of pirates, so it was rather colorful.

Finally, when she opened her eyes, she could see him holding just the smallest lock of her hair, which he had already managed to tie together with the black hair tie that had been on his hair just minutes ago.

"I hear ladies often give their gentleman callers a lock of their hair, so I figured I should have a lock of yours as well." He stated, with a wicked grin on his face.

"You're anything but a gentleman, you fucking prick. And you're my husband, why do you need a lock when you have all of it right here in my head?"

"Say that again," he said.

"Which part?"

"Which ever," he shrugged and kissed her roughly.

"You're such a fucking prick, husband dearest," she breathed between his kisses. She could feel him smile against her lips.

"I'll make you scream again," he mumbled and flipped her over, positioning her on her hands and knees.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

* * *

Downstairs, Mr. Tanner sighed with relief when he heard the fight between Mr. and Mrs. Morgan was over, and then the relief turned into absolute terror when the screaming started again. This time even more disturbing. The other guests had looks of terror written all over their faces as they tried to eat their supper. Mr. Tanner tried to disappear into the kitchen to escape the awful situation.

"What on earth do they have to do that for, he's already put a baby in her," Mrs. Tanner mumbled as she scrubbed the pots, not helping with Mr. Tanner's serious case of blushing.

Thirty minutes later, the young couple appeared downstairs, seemingly completely obvious to the situation they had just caused. Mr. Tanner was going to have a hell of a three days.

* * *

It was late and Charles and Eleanor were lying in bed, he was almost falling asleep, but he could feel that she was restless beside her.

"What's the matter?" he mumbled and turned to see her half sitting, half lying down on the bed.

"The baby has a schedule of his own, he seems to sleep all day and do some exercising during the night. I can't fall asleep."

"He?" Charles asked.

"Huh?" she said, absentmindedly stroking her belly through her shift.

"It's the first time you called the child a 'he'. Do you think it's a boy?" Eleanor had a thoughtful expression on her face when she looked at him.

"I hope so," she contemplated.

"Why do you hope so?" he asked.

"Girls don't have an easy life, Charles. I should know. I don't want to bring a girl into this world who would always feel like she is second best and not good enough no matter how well she did. I don't want her to have to struggle for things that would come naturally to a son. A son would be safer, and easier," she concluded, like she had been thinking about it for a while.

"Eleanor, not every girl grows up like you. Not every father wishes he had a son when he had a daughter. If it's a girl we will love her just as much as we would love a son. Her life might be harder than a boy's, but having her parents love and guide her every step of the way, her life would not be so bad," he said and set his hand on her belly.

"You wouldn't hope for a son instead?" she almost whispered. He could hear the tears in her eyes, even if he couldn't see them. He could hear the years of her father telling her she was not good enough in her voice, he could hear the countless of times when she had been pushed aside because she was not the son he had hoped her to be. For a while he hoped Richard Guthrie was alive just so he could kill him all over again.

"Never." With that she snuggled closer to him, and within minutes, she was fast asleep. He stroked her belly one last time and whispered:

"Sleep tight, princess."

 **AN: I'm terribly sorry it took me this long to update, but tutoring exchange students just took way more energy than I had anticipated. But I am back now, and I hope you'll enjoy this chapter :) Any guesses on the sex, or perhaps even for a name? I'd love to hear if you have any guesses :D**


	14. Chapter 14

**AN: Again, sorry for the delay, but you know, life sometimes gets in the way of writing. After this, there's only two chapters coming up. The next one has been already written, but needs editing. I will post it in a few days, however. So yeah, to anyone still following, hope you'll enjoy this one as well, and stick around for the end :)**

Being on a ship never did Eleanor any favors. Charles found it rather amusing considering his affiliation with the sea. Perhaps opposites did in fact attract, he thought as she was once again parting with the contents of her stomach. He stood next to her and placed a hand on the small of her back before pulling out his spyglass. And there it was, land. Their new home, gleaming in the horizon.

"We're almost home, Eleanor," he said, just loud enough for her to hear.

"Oh thank fucking god," she cried out. Two ladies passing them gave her a look of disapproval, but left it at that, as they had already learned in the beginning of the journey that Mrs. Morgan was not to be messed with.

"Thank fucking god," he agreed and placed an escaped lock of her back behind her ear. Home... that is what this place would be, at least for now, if they liked it well enough. But at least until the child had been born and was big enough to travel. He glanced at Eleanor's demeanor. It would not be long until the child arrived, and a panic was starting to set in his mind, what if he could not do it, what if he would be a terrible father, what if... But then he looked at Eleanor. She was the one doing most of the work, and the terrifying parts. And after all he was Charles Vane – well, Morgan now. He refused to be afraid. And yet as he watched the shore get closer and closer, the uneasy feeling that had taken over him would not leave.

* * *

It was an actual city. Or at least that is how it seemed to Eleanor. Nassau was not large by any means and she knew almost every face passing by. In New Orleans there was just so many people in the harbor, in the streets, just everywhere. And she didn't know any of them. Which of course was a blessing, it was the reason they had come here in the first place, to find a new life where they could live in peace, raise a child, and be Charles and Eleanor, not people the crown wanted dead and buried.

Still, as the carriage drove them past the streets of New Orleans, she couldn't help but to feel a bit home sick. She could never go back to Nassau, she would never again meet Charles on the beach, would never kiss him in the same place where they had kissed for the very first time again. And it saddened her, but soon the thoughts disappeared from her mind as he placed a firm hand on her knee. He was looking out the window, and that small gesture had just come from him so naturally. He stared at the passing streets, and yet, he was here for her, like he always was. He was her home. She didn't need anything else. He was enough. Always.

* * *

The first week was spent in an Inn while they looked for a suitable place to live. They did not have too many criteria, nothing too extravagant, neither of them had been used to living like that. But they found that none of the places they had seen felt like home. Eleanor had tried to picture her and Charles living within the walls of all the places, but nothing felt right. But patience is a virtue, and at the end of their first week in a new city, living their new life, they found it.

"This one also has business space downstairs," Eleanor muttered as they neared the place, it was just around the corner.

"What do you want business space for?" Charles asked, his gait slower than usual, due to his very pregnant wife walking arm in arm with him.

"I don't know, but selling things is really the only thing I know to do, Charles."

"So you suggest I become a mercenary then?" he quipped, earning himself a swat in the chest.

"Someone might hear you, fool," she whispered. "And no, that is not what I suggest. But perhaps a business would not be such a bad idea. Perhaps something that would allow you to sail again," she chattered absentmindedly. Charles turned to look at her profile as they walked side by side.

"We just got here and here you are, already trying to get rid of me," he said seriously, and tried not to let the smile reach his face.

"You're such an ass Charles," she sighed. He leaned in to kiss her cheek. "You knew I'd get restless sooner or later, didn't you?" he asked and she nodded.

"You can take the man out of the sea, but you cannot take the sea out of the man." When they turned around the corner, they both already felt like this one could be it. The building was quite tall and the store front looked very nice indeed.

They stepped inside and toured all the rooms. At the end of the tour, they ended up standing in the parlor, just looking at each other.

"This is it, isn't it?" he asked. She nodded and tried to hold back those treacherous tears, for she could already imagine both of them sitting here, their child in a cot sleeping next to them. This was it, they were home.

Charles grabbed her waist and brought her close to kiss her. They were lost in each other, just wanting to be close to each other in the first home they would share together. The kiss got deeper and deeper and she moaned against his lips.

"Umm, so would you like to sign the papers then, Mr. Morgan?" the seller asked awkwardly from the edge of the room. Charles reluctantly let go of her and turned to meet the man, while Eleanor tried to hold back a laugh when she saw the man's scandalized face.

"Yes, of course." Charles said and gave Eleanor a smirk that promised that they would continue where they had left of when he has gotten rid of the seller.

Eleanor sat down on the ottoman and smiled. They were home. The baby kicked in agreement.

* * *

For the whole first week they had been living in their new home, Eleanor had felt restless and uncomfortable. Her feet were killing her, and yet she could not stand still. She just couldn't. Charles was nowhere to be found, sorting out their finances, as most of their assets were gems that had been easy to transport from Nassau. She heard the front door open just then, and he walked in with some woman.

"Who's this?" she asked before neither of them even had the chance to see her by the window.

"Mrs. Morgan, I am Fantine, a midwife, I'm here to see to you, madam," she said, her accent reminding her suddenly of Max.

"I'm not in labor," she said, giving a baffled look at Charles.

"Still good to see that everything is in order, madam," Fantine said and without a word grabbed Eleanor by the hand and walked her to the bedroom, asking her to lie down on the bed and lift her skirts. Fantine then continued to listen to her stomach with some kind of device and pressing her tummy in different places.

"Well?" Charles' voice suddenly asked by the door, giving Eleanor a fright. She hadn't even noticed he was there.

"Bébé sounds good. But is not yet in position," Fantine concluded and motioned Eleanor to get dressed.

"What does that mean?" Charles asked, beating Eleanor to it.

"Well, the child needs to come out head first and right now the head is still up here, it should move any time now. I anticipate you will give birth in two weeks. I shall come see you in a week to see if the baby has change position, yes?"

They both just nodded, both unsure what else to do. They had no knowledge of babies, or birthing for the matter.

"See you next week," Fantine said and let herself out. Eleanor took a deep breath and let her head fall to her hands. She felt the bed dip when Charles sat down next to her.

"Two weeks," she murmured. "Two weeks," he repeated.

"We aren't ready, we don't have anything, where will the baby sleep? We don't have anything to dress him in! Oh god I'm already a terrible mother." She groaned. Charles placed his arm around her shoulder and kissed her temple.

"We'll go buy all that, we still got time, and you'll be a great mother, Eleanor."

"No I won't, I am not motherly at all, you know that better than anyone. I will lose my nerve with him, not pay him enough attention. I'll be awful." Charles then forced her to look at him by lifting her chin with his fingers.

"You listen to me, Eleanor. You love this baby, you've loved it since you knew it existed, you've told me that a hundred times over. You've put yourself second and the baby first multiple times already. Neither of us would be sitting here now if you hadn't. Yes, you will lose your temper and sometimes be too busy to give the child proper attention, but you are not alone. I am here as well. And we'll do fine. We won't be perfect, but we'll do just fine."

There was just something about Charles Vane telling you everything would be fine with a calm, yet rough voice that made her feel at peace. His steady presence put an end to her panic.

"We'll do fine," she repeated and nodded her head. "But I'm still scared," she whispered.

"I am as well. I'm fucking scared shitless, Eleanor. But we'll do it, and we will be fine." She looked up at the man she had married on a fucking pirate ship, telling her with sincerity that even though he was scared everything would still be fine. And she believed him.

"We'll do this together," he murmured and hugged her, his nose buried in her hair.

"I love you, Charles."

"I love you more than you can ever fucking imagine."

* * *

A week later Fantine visited again as promised, and she smiled at Eleanor, telling her the baby had turned to the correct positon. Fantine lightly squeezed her hand and said everything would be alright. However, with the looming birth, she was once again almost paralyzed with fear. Before she even realized, there was Charles, in bed next to her, his arms wrapped tightly around her.

"If I die in childbirth, know that I have a lot of money in a bank in Boston," she said.

"You're not going to die in childbirth, Eleanor."

"I might, a lot of women do, or that's what I've heard. Also, remember that no one will ever love you a much as I love you, so no point in getting remarried," she mumbled, making Charles laugh.

"I'll promise I won't get married again, if you promise not to die," he said, with mischief in his voice.

"That would make absolutely no sense, Charles." She turned to look at him, his face suddenly very solemn.

"Do you really think I could ever love another woman if I lost you?" Eleanor swallowed the tears that were threatening to surface.

"I could never love another man, so I guess not," she confessed. He squeezed her hand.

"Good. So let's agree that neither of us is dying, alright?" She nodded and buried her face to his neck.

"Deal," she agreed, and once again felt safe in his arms, like she had felt countless times before. With him here for her, she was ready to face anything, even childbirth.


	15. Chapter 15

**AN: Second to last chapter, guys! The last chapter will hopefully be posted during the weekend.**

She woke up in the middle of the night. Something hurt like hell. It was hands down the worst pain she had ever experienced. It felt paralyzing. But soon it passed and she slipped back to sleep. Only, she was woken again not long after that. This time the pain was just as bad. As it passed she cursed profoundly. She flung her legs to the floor and sat there for a while, feeling the cold wood against her toes. What felt like seconds, but what must have been a few minutes, passed and the pain returned to her. She wanted to curse and shout, but the pain did not allow for her to speak, only moan unintelligently.

"What's going on, Eleanor?" Charles' sleepy voice murmured from somewhere behind her. She was not able to respond, and in no time Charles was out of the bed and kneeling right in front of her, and taking a hold of her hand.

"This must be the contractions Fantine told me about," Eleanor finally breathed as the pain passed. A wild and panicked looked passed in her husband's eyes.

"Do I have to go get the midwife, now?" he asked, the sleep all drained out of his voice now.

"No, go tell the cook to get her, I don't want to be alone," she said and Charles spur into action, finding some half way decent clothing to put on before he left the bedroom to go wake up the cook. While he was gone, the pain came back twice. It was only getting worse, it seemed. Eleanor had known childbirth was painful, but this was the fucking worst thing she had ever felt.

Charles burst back into the bedroom right when she was in the middle of the pain. When she finally managed to pay attention to something else than the pain, she noticed he did not look like himself, he looked scared.

"Stop looking like that!" she huffed and got up from the bed, feeling too uncomfortable sitting on the bed.

"Like what?" he demanded in his rough voice, but there was something else mixed in it as well.

"Like you're scared! I can't do this if you're scared." His face went all blank and he nodded. The fear seemed to leave his face as if he had just commanded it to go. This man she had married was so in charge of himself it baffled Eleanor still after all these years. Sometimes she had wondered what had happened to him for him to be able to do it, but she had never asked, and now she was too preoccupied with having a child to ask.

What felt like hours, but what Charles told her to be only thirty minutes, had passed when Fantine finally arrived.

"Out!" she snapped at Charles, who just stood there staring at her with that expressionless mask Eleanor had asked him to wear.

"I'm staying," he rasped. The short woman stared at Charles, both unmoving. She must have recognized she had met her match as she slowly nodded and did not further protest his presence. Fantine came to her side and took out a pocket watch and sat down on the bed next to her through two passing contractions. Then she made Eleanor lift up her shift and spread her legs.

"This will take a while," Fantine announced and washed her hands on the basin.

"Excuse me?"

"Yes, first child always takes a while to come. The body does not quite know what to do during the first time. Well it does, but it has to learn, and learning takes time. Try to get comfortable. I shall gather all that is needed and then I shall sit with you until it is time," she stated with a no nonsense voice and leaving Eleanor little room to protest.

"Madam, rest now while you still can," she instructed, and for once in her life, she did as she was told without a protest.

* * *

It had been three hours since they had woken up. The clock on the bedside table declared it to be three in the morning. Charles should have been exhausted, but he was feeling the most alert he had ever felt. By his side Eleanor was in and out of sleep, waking up with the pain and then drifting back to sleep.

He had never been this scared in his life. He had seen a lot of death and none of that ever scared him. However, he had not seen a lot of life, and now that he was face to face with it, he realized that courage was not being ready to face death when it came. Courage seemed to be just sitting quietly by his wife while she was trying to birth life into this world, not showing how scared he was, for her sake. Charles was a man who had always controlled his own fate. Now he was not in control of anything. All he could do was sit there, watch the woman he loved more than life itself be in excruciating pain and not able to do anything about it. He had done his part in this nine months ago, and now all he could do was watch the minutes pass by. He had never felt so helpless and he resented it. Yet, he would do anything for her, even sitting through this, his hands tied behind his back.

* * *

Dawn was close when things started moving along. One moment nothing at all was happening and the second, Fantine positioning Eleanor and telling her to get ready to push. Charles sat on the edge of the bed, taking ahold of Eleanor's hand. She squeezed it so tight he swore she was trying to break his bones. Yet, it clearly was nothing compared to the pain she was in. Her screams filled the room, and the labored breathing after the screams told a story of how truly taxing this was.

"You need to push Eleanor," Fantine tried to encourage Eleanor. Eleanor shook her head, tears pouring down her cheeks.

"I can't, I'm so tired," she cried. Never had Charles wanted to take away someone's pain away like he wanted in this moment. Sweat had glued her hair to her forehead, her face pink yet pale, and her breathing heavy. And yet, he could do absolutely nothing but hold her hand, just hold her hand while she was going through the hardest thing he had ever witnessed anyone do.

"Eleanor, you can do it. Soon it's all over," Charles said and squeezed her hand.

"Oh shut the fuck up, Charles," she spat out and pushed like Fantine told her, screaming like it was killing her.

"I will never sleep with you ever again, Charles, you fucking bastard," she screamed.

"They all swear on that," Fantine said with a smile on her face, urging Eleanor to push again.

"I fucking mean it, I will never do this again. You asshole, why did you get me pregnant, I did not sign up for this!" she screamed. Charles said nothing, just swiped sweat from the brow. She had every right to complain, for not in a million years would Charles ever agree to go through this, and the baby wasn't even born yet. He thanked god he had been born a man.

"Push! The head is crowning!" Fantine yelled. Eleanor did as instructed.

"The head is born! You're so close, madam, just a few more!" Eleanor screamed and pushed, for one last time.

"Congratulations Mr. and Mrs. Morgan! You have a beautiful baby girl!" Eleanor looked up to Charles, still looking exhausted, yet the happiness in her face shining through.

"We have a girl," she sobbed just as the child let out her first cry. Fantine came to place the bloody child on Eleanor's chest. Charles looked at the scene unfolding right under his eyes and he found it hard to breathe all of the sudden. He had never seen anything more beautiful in his entire life. The love of his life, holding his child on her chest, with the look of absolute bliss on her face as she looked at the child that just minutes before had been inside of her. That bliss that he saw on Eleanor's face he also felt within himself. Suddenly a sob escaped his lips. He was not a man who cried, but looking at the two, how could he not.

"Charles, we have a baby girl," Eleanor said, finally lifting her eyes up from the child to look at him, tears in her eyes. Charles sat down on the bed and wrapped his arm around her, and finally placing a soft kiss on the head of their daughter.

"She's perfect," he whispered. It was a moment that both of them would carry with themselves until the day they died. No other moment to come could compare to holding your first child in your arms. No other moment for Charles could come close to seeing the woman he loved more than anything holding this perfect new human being, who he also loved more than anything. In that moment Charles realized his heart was larger than he had ever thought, for suddenly it could hold just as much love for this tiny person as it held for the woman he had loved for years.

"My girls," he whispered as he encircled both of them in his embrace. Everything was perfect. It was a feeling Charles Vane had perhaps never felt before in his life, and for the rest of his life, he would be thankful that he got the chance to feel it.

* * *

After the birth Eleanor and the new child slept. Both understandably exhausted. Charles, however, could not stop staring at this new tiny bundle that was asleep in his arms. He was holding a human being he and Eleanor had made. It was incredible that they had managed to make something this pure and good. And yet there she was, their perfect baby girl. A stupid smile was plastered on his face, but he did not care. All he cared about was that Eleanor was fine, as was their baby. A brief sad feeling passed his mind as he realized that no one he and Eleanor knew would ever get to see this child. Not Jack, Anne or Max. Not Mr. Scott. No one they had cared about. That feeling disappeared quickly as the baby started to fuss and cried, immediately waking up Eleanor.

"She's hungry," she murmured groggily and reached for the child. Charles placed her to Eleanor's hands and sat down next to her on the bed. He watched as she offered her breast to their baby and she latched onto it, enjoying her meal.

"I never thought of any names. Did you?" he asked her. Suddenly she grinned.

"What is it," he demanded.

"Oh it's nothing, I just had this dream just now that I was sleeping." Charles stared at her, telling her to keep going.

"Well, in the dream we named her Abigail, for Abigail Ashe." Charles just stared at her, making Eleanor laugh. "What?" he finally asked.

"Well, you know, if it wasn't for Abigail Ashe, this little one probably would never have been born. I came to you to steal her away from you, and that's when I believe this one got her beginning. So in a way, it's pretty poetic, if you ask me," Eleanor grinned and looked at Charles, who was just blankly staring at her.

"God Charles, I was kidding! I am not actually suggesting we name our child after a person who ultimately made me betray you. I don't know, perhaps..."

"I like it," Charles suddenly stated. Eleanor stared at him, with a confused expression on her face.

"You're right, Abigail Ashe tore us apart, but she also brought us together. None of us would be here today had you not decided to betray me. So yes, in a way, it is poetic." Eleanor looked at him like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Charles, no I'm not actually suggesting that. We can name her Elizabeth, or Mary, or something."

"I like the name Abigail" he murmured, and touched the head of his daughter, very lightly stroking the fine brown hair on her head.

"I like it as well," Eleanor murmured and looked at their child as well. "She feels like an Abigail; don't you think?" she whispered.

"Happy birthday, Abigail Vane," Charles whispered, and felt a tug in his heart. for no one would ever call his child that in public. She would be Abigail Morgan for the world, but in his heart, she'd always be Abigail Vane, his little girl.

"Abigail," Eleanor murmured and kissed the head of their child, who was still latched onto her breast. In that moment, everything was truly perfect, they were a family, in every sense of the word.


	16. Chapter 16

Their child was baptized Abigail Christine Morgan. Not that either of her parents were religious, but still, it was a nice ceremony. No one they knew came, it was just the three of them with the priest, and it was all they needed. All they wanted, really.

Abigail was not a fussy baby, no, she was quiet and a good sleeper, and yet during the past few months Charles and Eleanor had realized what it truly meant to be a parent. The cook had suggested hiring a nanny, but Eleanor had refused. She had not said anything, but Charles suspected that the loss of her own mother at such a tender age had made Eleanor want to be there for Abigail every step of the way, and that meant waking up to feed her ever so often.

In every possible way, Abigail Christine Morgan was the perfect child, as Charles kept whispering into his daughter's ear every time he held her. Eleanor would scoff and tell him he was biased and would only spoil her rotten, but the fondness on her face betrayed her true thoughts to be exactly the same as his.

It was after the baptism when they heard the news. Charles was still holding the small child, unhappy about how the holy water had washed away the scent she had, for nothing was better than the scent of his newborn daughter. He couldn't explain what it was, but it was absolutely perfect. They stepped onto the street, ready to hop on the carriage when they heard two patrons at the next door tavern speak.

"Did you hear Charles Vane has been executed?" the older man asked the younger. The use of that name so casually on the streets made both of them stop on their tracks.

"Yes, I did hear of it, indeed. Finally, the English managed to hang that bastard. The seas are now much safer for us decent folk," the younger mused. Charles managed to break through from his trance, and yanked Eleanor into the carriage. They drove in silence, but hearing the chatter all over town as they approached their home.

As the door was firmly shut between the Morgan residence and the outside world, Charles and Eleanor exhaled deeply.

"It appears I am dead," Charles rasped, placing Abigail in her cot.

"I wonder who they hanged instead of you," Eleanor pondered, closely watching Charles' reaction.

"Some poor bastard who probably deserved better than a public hanging."

"I think this is it, then," Eleanor said.

"What do you mean?"

"You are dead, officially. It means no one is looking for you at least. I think we are safe, Charles." Charles suddenly grasped her hand and pulled her body tightly against his, crushing his lips to hers. The kiss was full of so many feelings, love, relief, and lust. God the lust was killing both of them. Six weeks, Fantine had said. It had now been eight, and they both felt it in every fiber of their being. The laces of her bodice were ripped open faster than ever before. Charles leaned to kiss the breasts that were now heavy with milk, serving a purpose other than his pleasure.

"To the bedroom," Eleanor whispered, with a low moan. And he obliged, taking her to their bed, and then taking her body, for himself, back all to himself. Every inch of her was his, slightly altered, but still her, so purely her. The feel of her body was intoxicating and the sense of their bodies together purely ecstatic.

Her moans and his grunts filled the room, reaching their peak faster than they had ever before. This moment was so pure, in a way. There was absolutely no hostility between them, just lust, love and comfort. They collapsed into each other's embrace, just sucking in all those feelings, all the intimacy shared between them, only deepened by their child, not diminished as both of them had feared, never voicing it out loud.

"It's all behind us now," Eleanor murmured. He traced the little freckles on her arm, making her shiver.

"No, it's all ahead of us," he said with a kiss. And he was absolutely right.

* * *

Not only had Charles Vane been executed, but so had Jack Rackham. Charles did not show a sign of devastation, but Eleanor could see it in his eyes. No matter than he was never going to meet his friend again, it was still different knowing they were alive and well. But now he was dead as well. As were many others. No word of Anne or Max had reached them, which Eleanor took as a good sign. Those two women were resilient.

Piracy was indeed dying in the Caribbean. Some stroke of luck had seen to that Charles and Eleanor were still here, with their sweet and beautiful daughter right by them. And no matter how much Charles loved Eleanor and Abigail, Eleanor could see that he was getting restless. And for the matter, so was she. She was not a woman who would ever just settle for raising a child and doing nothing more. The ambition that was so characteristic for her had never left. It was still there, right under the surface. And Eleanor Guthrie had never been a woman not to put her ambitions into being, and Eleanor Morgan was no different. The store front was there, just down stairs, and Charles wanted to be at the sea once more. So he would sail, and she would sell. That is how she had planned it and that is how she executed it.

* * *

The sea breeze was almost orgasmic. He had truly missed it, and no wonder, as it had been part of him for so long. And now it was part of him again, sailing a ship, exporting rare goods to the city of New Orleans. The sailing parts took longer than they had before, the trips were dangerous, but no longer even nearly as violent as the life of a pirate had been. He missed it, piracy. Nothing had made him feel more alive than being on a ship, thrusting his blade through a man and taking what was his, just by the right that he was stronger. He did miss it. But he missed them the most. Eleanor and Abigail. They were never that far away from his thoughts while he sailed. They were worth sacrificing piracy for. They were worth being alive for. For it seemed he would have been dead had he continued on his path as a pirate. He had lost something dear, but he had gained something as well. Death by a sword no longer held the appeal it once had. Death by a blade would mean he would not get to see Abigail grow, say her first words, take her first steps. No, this was a worthy sacrifice. And he had absolutely no regrets.

* * *

"I will never visit this establishment again, madam!" Charles heard a customer yell as he stepped inside after long weeks at sea.

"Well good fucking riddance, sir!" Eleanor yelled, and then finally saw her husband at the door. The angry look on her face melted away and she took the steps to reach him and wrapped her arms tightly around his middle.

"You smell fucking horrible," she murmured, her nose deeply buried in his neck. Charles lifted his gaze to see the elderly male customer, still at the counter.

"My wife's so lovely, don't you think?" he asked. With that the man took off, making both Eleanor and Charles laugh in his wake.

"I'm glad you're home. She's crawling you know? It's driving me insane!" Eleanor said.

"She's crawling?" There was a sinking feeling in his stomach. He had not been here to see it.

"Yes, I had to take up a nanny. I can't keep an eye on her and run this place." Charles pulled her back into an embrace. They both loved their daughter to death, but it was also clear they both needed more substance to their life than seeing her grow up. So they were bound to miss things. It did not feel great, however.

"Come on, close the place. I want to see my princess." Eleanor smiled at him and took him upstairs to see their sleeping daughter.

"I can't believe she's already nine months old," Charles whispered as she looked at Abigail, sound asleep, her thumb in her mouth.

"Yes, well I can." Eleanor stated.

"She's growing up so fast. I already miss her being a tiny baby," he murmured and stroke Abigail's light brown locks ever so carefully. Eleanor cleared her throat.

"Well, you are going to get to relive all that." Sha stated. Charles froze.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm pregnant. Again." Charles just stared at her, absolutely nothing going through his mind.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure, Charles. For fucks sake, this one isn't even one, how did this happen?" she said, her voice filled with agony. Something in that voice made him laugh. He laughed until Eleanor swatted his arm.

"You know perfectly well how it happened, Eleanor," he said, with a mischievous grin. "How about a practice round? For the third one?" Eleanor groaned loudly.

"This will be the last one. I swear."

* * *

And this time her promise was accurate. Grace Alexandra Morgan was born sixteen months after her older sister. She would forever be the baby of the family, to the relief of everyone. Two was plenty, both Charles and Eleanor thought. Eleanor perhaps more so than Charles, for she was after all the one having to do all the work. A family of four was perfect for them. Just the two of them, and their two beautiful daughters. Two beautiful daughters was all they could ask for. When all four of them sat on the huge bed, Eleanor holding the newborn Grace, and Charles trying to hold Abigail back from pocking her fingers into her little sister's eyes, everything was once again perfect. Just like it had been when Abigail had been born. But this time, they were complete. Everything they needed was here and now. He kissed all three of his girls in his arms. Nothing had ever felt this good in his life. Nothing.

* * *

The Morgan household was always full of stories. When Abigail and Gracie were little, they believed everything, played pirates, just the two of them, Abigail always trying to be in charge of the game, and Grace not caring one bit of her older sister's efforts, declaring that pirates did not have to follow rules. Even at such a young age, it was easy to see their characters shining through. Abigail was reserved, yet very smart, and able to control the people around her to get what she wanted. Grace, however was easy going, happy and always smiling. Their children could not have been more different in character, and yet they looked more like twins than sisters. Light brown wavy hair, deep blue eyes and the most perfect pair of dimples gracing their cheeks.

Years, however, had the habit of rolling by, and time seemed to just fly by. Eleanor and Charles tried to cherish the moments, and yet the time seemed to slip away, and suddenly they found themselves standing in their parlor, in the middle of the night, looking at their daughters almost grown, caught trying to sneak back inside.

"Momma, daddy, it was all my fault, I made Abigail do it," Grace chattered in front of them, her hands flailing back and forth.

"And why the fuck did you do that, Gracie?" Charles asked, his voice stern. Actually he was mad as hell, and he was just trying to contain himself.

"Because Abigail is in love, naturally," Grace said with a dramatic eye roll. Abigail sat quietly on her seat, not saying a word, not even reacting to what her little sister had just said.

"Abigail, is this true?" Eleanor asked, the anger seeping through her voice. Abigail lifted her eyes to meet her mothers and she just nodded. It felt like a stone had replaced his heart. His little girl was in love? No, not possible.

"Who is he?" he said, barely holding back a growl.

"His name is Dorian. He's a sailor," Abigail said with a steady voice, looking straight into Charles' eyes, showing no fear.

"Are you fucking kidding with me?" Eleanor huffed under her breath and turned to look at her husband. For a while they just stared at each other and then they burst into laughter. The laughter would not die down, and their children were forced to sit there and watch this scene unfold.

"She's sneaking out to see a sailor, in the middle of the night!" Eleanor laughed. Charles laughed even harder.

"I don't know where she gets it from," he sneered.

"Umm, can we go to bed now, please?" Grace interrupted their musings.

"Yes, go to bed. And stay there." Eleanor ordered. The girls took their leave, but before they were out the door, Charles just had one more thing to say.

"You can't see him again," he said with his most assertive voice. Abigail turned to stare him right into his eyes.

"I will. I don't care what you say. Good night." And with that they were back off to their beds, leaving Charles and Eleanor alone in the parlor.

"We deserved to have them as our children, didn't we?" he asked Eleanor.

"Oh yes. And I think we are getting off easy here. At least Abigail took Gracie with her. You know very well what happened when I came to see you when I was her age." Charles grimaced at the idea.

"Don't worry about it, Charles, we raised smart girls. Abigail is smarter than I am. This Dorian is most likely no Charles Vane; you know? He's probably a sweet boy." Charles gritted his teeth. This was his life now, worrying about his daughters doing the exact same things their mother had done at their age, and with him no less. It seemed like a divine punishment. And perhaps it truly was, for just a week later it was revealed Dorian worked in his crew and had no intention of giving up either his job or Abigail, not even when compelled with a little violence. It truly was a divine punishment, and yet seeing the look on his daughter's face when she looked at her beloved made him relent. His life had been full of ups and downs, but never as much as when he had become a father. It was something he had to live with, for better or for worse

* * *

As Charles and Eleanor looked back on their lives, they were happy. At the age of sixteen when Eleanor had first found herself in bed with Charles Vane, she had never imagined they would grow old together, have a beautiful family, and see the day she would become a grandmother. And yet that day did come, and even if the moment was full of joy, it also made her feel blue. She knew Charles felt it as well. They had given up Nassau, their home and friends, their ambitions. It had been a trade worth making, very much so. But there was not a day that passed when she did not think of the days when she was the Pirate Queen of Nassau. That feeling of holding so much power in your hands never leaves a person. The amount of influence they both had had in Nassau was just a faint memory now, and yet they still felt it vividly. And she did miss it, having the power to crush another human being if she willed it, bending others to her vision... and Charles... she could see it in his face how much he missed the blood dripping down his hands, the simpler times when everything he wanted to take was his for taking.

That was all in the past now, the most dreaded pirate in the world and the Queen of Thieves had been dead to the world for a few decades now. The world had forgotten, and yet they had not. Even to their children, their lives on Nassau were just stories, something they did not truly believe had happened to them. They were just stories from their childhoods, and Eleanor and Charles never saw the need to correct that. Their two princesses did not have to know about Charles' youth in slavery, his need to free himself by piracy. Or her own insecurities about her father, that had led her to trust no one and to turn her back on people who loved her the most. There was no need for that, for their children did not live in that world, they did not have to. By their sacrifice, their children had lived a happy and a sheltered life. They were not put through the emotional trauma as Eleanor and Charles had. And that was their proudest achievement. Seeing two strong women standing before them, living a life free of violence and betrayal, it was worth everything they felt they had given up.

And now seeing her eldest daughter cradle her first born daughter in her arms, everything seemed to come together. The choices Eleanor and Charles had made twenty-one years ago, had made this all possible. It allowed her to now wipe away the tears from the corner of her eyes as the tiny little fingers of her first grandchild wrapped around her finger. That choice had given her and Charles so many years together. Years they never thought they'd spent together. The two of them had always been set for destruction, it had been clear as day. Their relationship was just a rush of emotion that guided them through life, sometimes riding on the wave, sometimes going under, almost drowning them.

And these past twenty-one years had been far from smooth sailing. They were after all Charles Vane and Eleanor Guthrie, no matter what name they had taken to be theirs. And being who they were, nothing ever came easy. Still, they were happy. It was something neither of them had ever even dreamed of having. Those two decades ago, it had not seemed possible, and now all those years later, it was reality.

"If I died today, I'd be happy to go. I have it all," Eleanor whispered to Charles, reaching for his hand.

"Remember what you promised, you won't go without me."

"I would never even dream of it." It would be fitting to say that they lived their lives happily ever after, but after all they were Charles Vane and Eleanor Guthrie, so some-what happily ever after will have to do. And for them, it was more than enough.

 **AN:** **Well this is it, guys. When I planned this fic, it was supposed to be under 20k, that did not happen as you can see from the word count. This fic was really inspired by my need to see a wildly different ending for these two than what the show gave us. Some might say the characters are not in character, but frankly, I don't care. I wanted a happy ending, so I wrote it. I hope you enjoyed this fic even half as much as I enjoyed writing it, and I hope you like the happy ending as well. I'll most likely be back with my vanexeleanor fics in the future, but now I'm just glad I got this story written down. Thanks so much for everyone who read, favorited, followed and most of all to those who commented on this fic. Those comments keep a writer alive. So yeah, thanks :)**


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